Chapter Text
Clint wasn’t sure how long they sat on the barn floor, but the sun was well up when Phil finally scrubbed his bruised hands over his reddened eyes and pulled away from Clint’s side, making him shiver with the sudden loss of heat.
“I should call the… the school,” Phil said, his voice creaky and rough. “Katie can’t…”
“Hey.” Clint rubbed lightly over the knotted muscles in Phil’s back. “Let me do it, Phil. She’ll probably sleep for hours, yet. There’s time. And you should get some rest too.”
“I need—” Phil broke off and turned, looking at Clint with a searching, tentative expression. “You don’t mind?”
“I know I don’t look it, but I’m good in a crisis,” Clint said, not mentioning the part where he tended to lose it a little bit after the crisis was done. Just then, at least, he still felt focused and calm, and he hoped he could keep his head for long enough to make sure everyone was sleeping before he found a private space to deal with the giant horror of what might have been. He rolled to his feet, groaning a little as limbs stiff from long sitting protested, then held out a hand to Phil. “Come on, you need to sleep. I’ll take care of the school.”
Phil hesitated for a second, then clasped Clint’s hand and hauled himself to his feet. Maybe it was just fatigue, but it seemed like he let the hold linger a little after he was upright.
Phil had nice hands, strong and warm and interestingly calloused. Clint carefully set that observation aside for a more appropriate time.
(“If it’s going to be anyone,” Phil had told him, “it’s going to be you.”)
“Come on,” Clint said. Phil allowed Clint to sling an arm around his shoulder and steer him back into the house, up the stairs and right up to his bedroom door. Clint paused at the threshold, but took another look at Phil—who was swaying on his feet—and decided that the situation overrode privacy considerations for the moment. He opened the door and led Phil inside.
He hadn’t been in the room since the day Katie had given him the tour, but he tried not to give in to the impulse to look around too much; he needed to get Phil settled in and asleep before it was late enough for the girls to start rousing.
“Put your sleep clothes on,” he told Phil, who stared at him dully for a moment before squeezing his eyes closed and pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Yeah, okay,” Phil said, moving slowly toward the door of his bathroom. Clint watched long enough to make sure he wasn’t about to fall asleep on his feet, then busied himself turning down the covers of Phil’s neatly made bed. It was obvious which side he slept on, the bedside table bearing a paper notebook and a pen, a paper book with what looked like a leaf sticking out of the top, and a half-full glass of water as well as the charging pad for Phil’s comm.
The table on the other side contained nothing but a lamp, and it made Clint uncomfortable to look at its bare surface and the uncreased pillow next to it. He went to the big windows and closed the curtains.
“You’ll call the school?”
Clint turned. Phil was next to him, in soft faded blue sleepwear that Clint thought he recognized as Galactic Navy issue.
“I’ll call ‘em,” he promised. “Go to sleep, okay?”
Phil nodded. “Okay,” he murmured, climbing into bed with a sigh. “Thank you.” He closed his eyes, nestling into the covers of his bed, and when Clint looked over his shoulder from the threshold, he was already asleep.
Clint should probably try to sleep himself, but he could tell it would be a pointless endeavor; he was still in mission mode, hypervigilant and alert. He’d managed to doze a little in the small hours, before he went to check on Phil, but it was stakeout-dozing, where you never really lose consciousness completely and rouse at the smallest stimulus. He’d probably crash hard whenever the adrenaline finally ebbed and he managed to convince his subconscious that nobody was about to get eaten by a wolf anymore, but in the meantime the best he could do was keep himself too busy to remember the sound of Katie screaming.
He turned off all the wake alarms; none of them were going to get up for a regular day. He hoped they’d all sleep a good bit longer, and not just because he’d felt almost comically out of his depth the night before, talking to Katie and Phil. A good sleep could really help reset a person after a traumatic experience.
Phil, bless him, had loaded Clint’s house account with all the relevant emergency contacts. It was still far too early to call anyone, so Clint sent messages to the girls’ school and to Phil’s job, letting them know that the Coulsons weren’t coming in that day. Of course, everyone relevant probably already knew, given the size of the crowd at the task force meeting and the speed at which gossip seemed to travel in Mariana, but the last thing any of them needed was to have to field calls from the one person who hadn’t caught up on the big news.
Priority correspondence settled, he flipped over to check his personal mail. He was shocked to see his inbox full of messages. Normally, he only got little notes from Phil about household matters, jokes and chatty updates about life in town from Darcy, and “helpful” articles (the previous week he’d had one on encouraging educational play in children, one on dating a widower, and one on how to host a perfect Bekkish dinner party) that came from blandly anonymous accounts that could only be Natasha.
(All right, fine, some of the articles actually were helpful, though Clint didn’t think he was very qualified to teach the girls basic ballet, no matter how good a foundation it laid for various other skills later in life.)
He skimmed over the list and opened a message from Darcy with the subject line “keeping the vultures away.”
Clint—
I’m writing to you instead of Phil because I’m pretty sure he’s in no state to be checking messages. I just wanted you to know that a lot of people have been pinging me asking for updates and I’m trying to keep them away from you guys for as long as I can.
Please pay close attention to your arm. Sam said you got some acid burns, those things can be really serious. If it starts to feel worse, get it looked at as soon as you can.
You know, I just sat here for ten minutes staring at the cursor blinking and couldn’t think of anything else to say that wasn’t stupid. Fuck it, I’m switching to dictation mode.
I can’t ask if you’re all okay. Of course you aren’t okay. After what happened nobody would be. But I hope you’re taking care of one another.
Anyway, um, Katie gets nightmares sometimes? I don’t know if you’ve seen that yet, Phil says she hasn’t had one in a while, but if it happens, just, you know. She usually just wants a hug, and sometimes she wants to tell you about the dream. It’s good to kind of talk her through it and help her realize that what she’s scared of isn’t true. Like, she used to dream Phil died, so I would always show her his vitals on the house system if I got there first so she could see he was
Shit, I guess that isn’t going to work if she dreams of a wolf attack. Fuck. Maybe stick with the hugs then or like, remind her you killed the other one?
I know you’re probably pretty freaked out yourself but. Please keep an eye on Phil? After, um, when Skye was a baby he used to... Never mind. Just. I think he’s probably gonna need some moral support. And make sure he eats something if you can, he’s like, the opposite of a stress eater.
Let me know if you want me to come over or anything.If you need to talk you can comm me anytime, I set it so you’ll ring through even if I’m on DND.
Darcy
He could practically hear Darcy’s voice as he read, except instead of her usual irrepressable cheerfulness, she sounded anxious and uncertain. Clint sighed, feeling torn. Part of him wanted to tell her to come over, to help Katie with her dreams and Phil with his freakout, to smooth things over with her loved, familiar presence so that Clint wouldn’t have to worry that he was going to fuck things up. But another part, probably the stronger part, didn’t want to see anyone but the Coulsons. He wanted to pull them all into Katie’s treehouse and activate the security shutters, set a perimeter and line it with tripwires and watch over all three of them until the nausea deep in his guts subsided and he could consider the idea of the girls going outside to play without his mind tracing all the places a wolf might hide.
He really needed to get his StarkTab connected to that wolf satellite thing as soon as it was live, or he might never sleep easy again.
He opened a reply to Darcy, wanting to at least give her a little peace of mind if he could.
Hey Darcy,
Thanks for writing. You’re right that Phil’s not really up for that right now, he was up pretty late talking to Katie and then working through some shit, but he’s sleeping now. I hope he’ll stay asleep a while, he needs the rest.
I’ll make sure to look out for Katie’s nightmares, I’ve got both girls’ monitors running so I can see if they have trouble. Thanks for the tips on what to do, you’re right that I haven’t dealt with that yet.
I called everyone out of school and work today, I think Phil and the girls need some family time. It would be great if you could keep the town off our backs until we get our feet back under us.
If you want, maybe you could come by later this evening and see Phil and the girls for yourself? Check first just in case, I don’t know how everyone’s gonna be when they wake up, but maybe it would be good for us to not just sit around all day freaking out.
Thanks for everything,
Clint
He hit send and checked the monitors, relieved to see all three lights steady green. He wanted to write to Natasha but kept shying away; how did you write about something like that? He didn’t even want to think about it; his hands started shaking every time he tried.
Looking for something to distract him, he started going through the rest of his mail. The first thing that caught his eye was one from Sam Wilson, with the subject “Thanks and an invitation.”
Clint,
I’d already planned on writing you after the meeting to say pleased to meet you, and to make sure you knew that I was serious about you being welcome to come help me exercise the horses if you ever want to. But, man, after what happened tonight, that all seems kind of insignificant.
It feels presumptuous to thank you for saving Katie, since I know you didn’t do it for my benefit.The Coulsons are essentially my in-laws, though, so I do want to thank you, on my behalf and on Darcy’s, for saving us all from an unimaginable tragedy.
Putting on my professional hat for a minute, I did want to mention to you that the Watch is currently looking for volunteers. The Watch is Mariana’s combination volunteer fire department and sheriff’s office; we also help out Mariana Search and Rescue when needed. In a town this size, we don’t usually have much call for law enforcement, but every so often someone has a bar fight or a kitchen accident or wanders off and gets lost, and Tony’s always been very insistent on emergency preparedness, so we run a lot of drills. Anyhow, since it looks like the acid wolf threat is a lot more present than we’d realized, I think it would help a lot of people sleep better at night if you could help us out. Stark Galactic does pay all the Watch volunteers a stipend (see attached membership packet) and we’re flexible about hours. Even if you aren’t able to commit to a regular shift, maybe you could help us out with some marksmanship workshops?
Anyway, pro hat off, I hope I’ll get to see you at our place some time soon. After watching what you can do with a bow and arrows, I’d love to see what you can do on horseback. I’ll even grill you a steak to sweeten the deal.
Sam Wilson
Clint paged through the attachment thoughtfully, then saved the message to reply to later. He was definitely interested; he liked the idea that he’d have the option to help protect his new home. He’d need to talk to Phil about scheduling, though.
The next few messages were more businesslike than Sam’s. Mayor Munroe was offering him a contract to do security training for the town, and someone named Harold Hogan wanted him to be Tony Stark’s personal on-call bodyguard (which, sorry but no; that was possibly the worst idea in the history of the galaxy if he wanted to stay off the Bratva’s scans, even if Stark hadn’t been acting so weird around him.) He sent a polite refusal to Hogan and filed the one from the Mayor away for futher consideration. The next two were from Stark Galactic addresses. Dr. Thor Odinsson wondered if Clint might be interested in working security for SGI terraforming field teams (if he was holding a grudge for the time Clint had buzzed his goat pasture in Lola, it didn’t come through in his email). Bruce Banner asked if Clint would be willing to consult with his team on refining their tranquilizer darts, and mentioned in a postscript that if he and Phil could work out the scheduling, they’d love to have his aim on one of their field response teams as well.
Clint decided that as soon as Phil was a little recovered, they needed to have a conversation about what exactly Phil’s job as the “head of security” for SGI involved.
The next message had the subject “Your Talents Are Needed.” It sounded almost military, but turned out to be an offer to work for the Attilan Day Spa as something called an “Up-Do Artisan.” It was signed “Medusa,” no last name.
Huh.
He sent another polite refusal; he was a resourceful guy, okay, but he knew for sure he wasn’t what anyone needed at any kind of spa unless he was there to suffocate someone with a mud mask and make it look like an accident.
Hypothetically.
The last message was from a “B.F. Holdings” with the subject “Offer of Employment.” He opened it, not sure what to expect; he’d more or less assumed Stark Galactic was the only game in town when it came to business, but he supposed it didn’t necessarily have to be.
He read through the message, feeling his eyebrows go higher and higher as he realized what it said.
Mr. Barton:
After learning of the regrettable incident following the recent meeting of the Mariana Acid Wolf Task Force, I would like to offer you the position of Head of Personal Security at B.F. Holdings.
Given the recent revelation of the seriousness of the acid wolf threat this season, I require an experienced and skilled man to lead the protection details for myself and my daughter, Whitney. You will be given complete authority to vet and select your subordinates in setting up the expanded details.
Naturally, in order to properly fulfill this function, you will need to live in close proximity to our family. To this end, your compensation package will include a furnished apartment above the carriage house on the Frost estate for the duration of your employment, in addition to our very competitive salary and benefits.
Please complete the attached forms and return to this address by COB Friday to accept this offer, and my staff will be in contact to facilitate your move and schedule your outfitting with appropriate equipment, which I can assure you will be state of the art.
Cordially,
Byron A. Frost
“Are you literally shitting me,” Clint said out loud. He’d seen plenty of entitled assholes in his life, but this? The “A” in Frost’s name must literally stand for “asshole.” The whole disaster with the wolf had been his fault as much as anyone’s; a kid Whitney’s age wouldn’t get that whole “I’ll get my daddy to ruin your life” thing out of thin air. Frost had to know that his kid and Katie had fought; Clint was already well-versed enough in the ways of Mariana Elementary School to know that Whitney would have had her own note sent home. And after all that, Frost thought he could wave money under Clint’s nose and he’d abandon his—the Coulsons, and come work for him? It'd be a cold day on Mercury before that would ever happen.
He really wished Natasha was there; she’d know exactly how to reply to best puncture the man’s overinflated opinion of himself. She could always put her finger on the exact best way to tell someone to eat shit. (Clint was a lot more prone to just come out and say it, no matter the circumstances.)
He was hovering over the reply button when a thought struck him. Byron Frost had indeed offered Clint a job that would explicitly take him away from his—the girls, just like Katie had feared would happen. Darcy had said that it helped Katie’s nightmares to talk through how the things she was afraid of weren’t true. If Clint told her about the offer, and let her watch him refuse it—or let her help him write the refusal—would it help settle any lingering worries?
Frankly, he’d drive her to the Frost house himself and let her throw a bucket of garbage on Byron Frost personally—he’d hold her up so she could throw it in his face—if it meant he’d never have to worry about her running off into the woods alone again.
Well, okay. He wouldn’t really. Phil wouldn’t like it. Plus, it wasn’t exactly a good example for her to grow into. If he was thinking about being a parent for Katie, he had to make sure to teach her good stuff. Useful skills that wouldn’t get her in trouble.
But writing a Natasha-style “so polite you almost don’t realize you’ve been verbally cut to ribbons” letter was definitely a useful skill. And he thought Phil would actually probably approve; he’d worked with Britannia, after all, so he must appreciate the art of polite verbal evisceration.
He looked at the monitors, frowning a little to himself when he looked at Katie’s; her heart rate looked a little high. As he watched, the light flickered from green to yellow, and he was out of his room and opening her door before he’d fully registered the change.
Katie’s room was dim, with the morning sunlight filtering through the curtains that Phil had closed the night before. She startled awake with a gasp when Clint came through the door; he’d been a little careless in his worry, and the door had thumped against its stop. She sat up and looked around wildly, pale against her dark hair; when she saw Clint she went still, staring.
“Katie?” He kept his hands visible, loosening his posture; had he frightened her? “Sweetie? Are you okay? It’s me—Clint.”
Her little face crumpled, and she started to cry, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs.
“Oh, baby,” Clint said helplessly, moving to the bed and sitting down on the edge. He reached out tentatively; he wasn't sure if his touch would be welcome, but it was impossible not to offer it. “Did I scare you? I’m so sorry. Do you want a hug?”
She nodded, hiccuping, and he opened his arms, wanting to let her choose the level of contact she needed. She scrambled out from under the covers and onto his lap, curling up small against his chest and burying her face in his shirt. He held onto her, gentle but firm, and rubbed her back like he’d seen Phil do sometimes with the girls. He bent over her head, pressing a kiss into her hair, his heart aching. “Sweetheart, you’re all right, you’re safe, it’s okay,” he murmured, cuddling her close. She was so little; you forgot it usually, because her personality was anything but. Now, though, she seemed tiny, pressed down with misery.
“I’ve got you, Katie, I won’t let anything hurt you,” he said, and she sobbed again, her fingers tightening in his shirt. “Baby? What’s wrong? Did you have a scary dream?”
She nodded.
He remembered what Darcy had said, and gave her a little squeeze. “You wanna tell me about it?”
She sniffled, and Clint pulled a hanky out of his pocket and handed it to her. She scrubbed at her face, her back still heaving occasionally as her sobs petered out.
“There’s no rush, sweetie,” Clint said softly, kissing her hair again. “Take your time, I ain’t going nowhere.”
“I d-dreamed I was in the tree again,” she said at last, in a small voice.
“Kinda thought that might be it,” Clint said, trying to sound encouraging. “Was it like last night?”
She nodded, fidgeting with Clint’s handkerchief. “An’ you came,” she said. “But, but the wolf bit you! He hurt you! He was, he was gonna eat you and everything was my fault because I disobeyed Daddy and I— and I—” she trailed off, overcome with a flood of fresh tears, and Clint gathered her even closer in his arms, rocking her back and forth a little and crooning soothing nonsense into her hair. When she’d cried herself out enough that he thought she might be able to pay attention, he straightened up a little.
“Katie, sweetheart, can you look at me for a minute?”
She looked up, her face blotchy and swollen with crying. He smoothed a stray lock of hair out of her face; her braid was coming down. She must have been restless most of the night. “There’s my girl,” he said. “That sounds like it was a really scary dream.”
She nodded, biting her lip, tear-tracks still on her cheeks.
“But look, here I am, and here you are, and the wolf didn’t eat anybody at all. And you’re right, you did disobey. But you know what?”
“What?”
“You told your Daddy and me that you were sorry, and we know you meant it. And we know you learned from this, right? And we both forgave you.”
“I know,” Katie whispered. “But you got hurt!” She patted his bandaged arm, her touch so light he barely felt it.
“I’ll heal,” Clint told her.
“I heard Uncle Tony say you could have died.” In the dim light, her eyes were wide and wet.
Clint’s chest squeezed. He wished he knew how to make this better. “I didn’t, honey. I’m going to be just fine.”
She looked down at her hands, still twisting in the handkerchief. “My mommy died.”
He stared down at her bent head for a long moment. What could he say to that? It was true, after all, and there wasn’t any making it better. Clint knew that full well.
Wait. Maybe he did know what to say.
“So did mine,” he said, his voice catching. “When I was a little boy. I was five.”
She looked up, startled. “That’s the same as me,” she said. “That’s how old I was.”
“Yeah,” Clint said. “So I remember what it felt like. That it hurts. How it’s big and confusing and scary and people just never understand, right? They tell you everything is going to be okay, and sometimes you think it will, but then sometimes you think everything is never going to be okay ever again.”
“Did they say that to you?”
“They did.” Clint kept rubbing her back softly. “I used to get so mad.”
“They don’t know,” Katie said. “They don’t understand. Even Skye doesn’t, even though she was Skye’s mommy too. But Skye was too little to remember her.” She shifted in his lap, turning to face him more. “Clint? Are you still sad about your mommy? Even though you’re grown up now?”
His eyes prickled. “Yeah, baby,” he said. “I still get sad about her sometimes. But a lot of the time, I’m happy, too. And I know that would have made her glad, because she loved me, and she wanted me to be happy.” He took a steadying breath, trying to sort through his complicated emotions and state them in a way that was appropriate for Katie. “You remember how we talked about picking families for yourself?”
She nodded. “Like Uncle Steve and Aunt Peggy,” she said. “And you and Aunt Natasha.”
“Right. That helps, having lots of both kinds of family that you love and that loves you. And you can remember about the times that you were happy with your mom, and special things you did together. Then, even though you might feel sad that she’s not here anymore, you can still feel happy remembering those things.”
“Like when I helped her with her flowers,” Katie said. “Or when she used to play her music for me.”
“Just like that,” Clint said, giving her another little squeeze. “Do you want to tell me about a happy memory now?”
She nodded, her forehead creasing in concentration in a way that made her look just like her dad. “I know one!”
“I’d love to hear it,” Clint said gently.
“It was right after we moved to Stark’s World,” Katie said. “Daddy couldn’t do much moving, because he’d got hurt. He’s all better now, though.”
“I know,” Clint assured her. “He told me about it.”
“Yeah. So Daddy tried to do some unpacking but he got really really really tired and he had to go take a nap. And Mommy and me unpacked the kitchen! Well, mostly Mommy put things away but I helped. I opened the boxes and I handed Mommy things.”
“You sound like a really great helper.”
“That’s what Mommy said. And when we were done, she said we should make Daddy breakfast in bed for a surprise. So we did! And we brought it to him and we all sat on the bed and ate off trays. And you know why it was an extra surprise?”
Clint smiled. It was a relief to see her looking better, smiling and excited as she told her story. “Why’s that, Katie-Kate?”
“Because it was suppertime,” Katie said, and giggled.
“Well, no wonder he was surprised!”
Katie knelt up and wrapped her arms around Clint’s neck, smacking a kiss on his cheek. “I like telling happy memories,” she said. “You should tell one now, it’s your turn.”
“Oh, it is? Well I guess I’d better take my turn,” Clint said, swallowing down the lump that wanted to rise in his throat. This wasn't about him, this was about Katie. He searched his memory for something suitable to tell her. “So, you told me a breakfast memory," he said at last, "so I’ll tell you one, too. One time, my mom had been doing some work for a lady, and the lady had given her a bunch of food she had that she didn’t need.”
“We do that in Mariana,” Katie said. “When we have too many apples or when the bees make a lot of honey, we swap it with other people for things they have too much of, and then everybody gets to share all the things.”
“It’s a good thing to do,” Clint agreed. “So, Momma brought home all these things, and she looked in the box, and she saw that there was a jar of sprinkles. Do you know what sprinkles are?”
“Like you put on ice cream? All the colors?”
“Yeah, like that. So she told me and my brother that she was going to make us a special breakfast.”
“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Katie said. “Was he a little brother like Skye is my little sister?”
“No, he was my big brother, like you are to Skye,” Clint said. “I was the little one.”
“What’s his name?”
“Barney,” Clint said. It made his chest ache, thinking of the way things had been when they were small. There had been so much bad, but he'd never doubted that his brother would take care of him.
There wasn't much about his childhood that Clint missed. Just the two of them, really: Momma, and Barney.
Katie tilted her head, looking thoughtful and curious, but she just asked, “So what did your mommy make for your special breakfast?”
“She made griddle-cakes,” Clint said, pushing away his melancholy. “And she shaped them like moons and stars and hearts, and she put sprinkles inside them so they had rainbow colors, and we ate them with a little bit of syrup and pretended they were magic.”
“Those sound yummy,” Katie said. “Can we make those sometime here? I want to try magic griddle cakes too.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Clint promised.
Clint’s comm buzzed, and he pulled up the house display to see that Skye was rousing.
“Your sister’s waking up,” he told Katie. “Do you want to come with me to check on her, or would you rather stay here and get dressed?”
“Can I come with you?”
“Sure,” Clint said. “We’ll check on Skye and then we’ll get everyone dressed and then we’ll see about some breakfast, okay?” He stood up, and she slid out of bed after him, standing unusually close; he didn’t call attention to it, just rested his hand on her shoulder, trying to radiate reassurance.
Skye was curled up in bed, blinking drowsily. Clint sat on the edge of her bed and smoothed her hair. “Good morning, sunshine,” he said quietly. “Did you have a good sleep?”
She yawned. “I guess so,” she said. “Is it time to get up now?”
“You don’t have to,” Clint told her. “Your dad and I are keeping you both home from school today. You can go back to sleep if you want.” He looked over at Katie, who looked relieved. “We’re going to have a quiet day at home.”
“Is Daddy stayin’ home too?” Skye sat up and rubbed at her eyes with one hand, the other still hugging her doll.
“Yeah, he’s still sleeping,” Clint said. “He was up pretty late last night, so he needed to rest.”
Thankfully, Skye accepted that explanation, and was excited by the prospect of an unexpected holiday. Katie, though still unwilling to go far from Clint’s side, made a visible effort not to dampen her sister’s spirits.
Once everyone was dressed for the day, Clint took them downstairs, checking to make sure that the soundproofing was on Phil’s room so that he could sleep as long as he was able.
“What would you like for breakfast, girls?” he asked.
“I’m not very hungry,” Katie said.
“Yeah, me neither,” Skye piped up.
Clint held back a sigh. “Well, I am,” he said, not quite truthfully. “Would you please keep me company at the table while I eat?”
“Okay,” Katie said, and she and Skye got into their seats while Clint poured them each a cup of milk. He pulled out some yogurt and fruit, the little jar of granola and the crock of Phil’s honey, and spooned out portions for each of them. Once he was a couple bites in, he was relieved to see the girls both start eating too.
Breakfast was quieter than usual; Katie wasn’t crying anymore, but she was still subdued, and Skye was picking up on her mood. Clint was glad to let them be quiet; he felt like he’d used up about a year’s worth of his meager parenting skills over the last twelve hours or so.
They finished eating and the girls helped clean up without complaining; it didn’t take long. “What would you like to do next?” he asked the girls as they finished up, Katie putting the last of the bowls into the dishwasher as Clint finished wiping down the table.
“I want a story,” Skye said.
“I think we could do a story,” Clint told her. He looked at Katie consideringly, thinking about what they’d discussed that morning. “Katie, do you remember the story you told me earlier this morning? Do you think you might want to tell Skye a story like that?”
Katie leaned against Clint’s hip, her face pensive, and Clint rubbed her back a little. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, honey,” he said.
“Do you think Skye would like it?” She bit her lip. “She doesn’t remember.”
“Maybe you could ask her,” Clint suggested, happy that she seemed open to the idea. He gave the end of her braid a gentle tug. “I hear the best way to know what someone would like is to ask them.”
“What will I like?” Skye asked, coming up on Clint’s other side and wrapping her arms around his knee. He dropped his hand onto her head, petting over her soft hair.
Katie took a deep breath. “I was telling Clint a story about a happy memory I had,” she said. “About Mommy. Do you want to hear one?”
Skye paused for a moment, then shrugged. “Okay,” she said.
“We could look at my album,” Katie said. “I have pictures and vids in there. I could tell you a story about one of them.”
“That sounds like a great idea, sweetheart,” Clint said, giving her shoulder a little squeeze. “Why don’t you get your album and we can sit together in the living room to look at it?”
He sat in the middle of the couch with Skye beside him. She was either still sleepy or she’d picked up on Katie’s mood, because she seemed content to lean against Clint’s side with her finger in her mouth instead of going for a toy. He put his arm around her carefully, still half-disbelieving that she seemed to want that from him, and she sighed a little, snuggling up beside him. Katie returned soon with her album and got up onto the couch on Clint’s other side. It was his bandaged arm, so she patted it softly, a questioning look on her face. He lifted his arm, holding back a wince as the wound pulled with the motion, and Katie mirrored her sister’s posture, leaning into his side and setting the tablet on Clint’s lap. She flicked through the menu with the unbandaged tips of her fingers as Clint settled his arm around her gingerly.
“I have a lot of vids and pictures,” she said. “Miss Darcy put them on for me so I didn’t have to ask her or Daddy to get the big albums when I wanted to look.” She looked over at Skye. “I have one vid that has you in it,” she said. “Do you want to watch that one?”
Skye perked up. “I like to hear stories with me!” she said, removing her finger from her mouth. “Show that one, Katie.”
“Okay. I’ll put the album in the middle so we can all see.”
Clint kept a hard rein on his own emotions as he watched Katie select the file she wanted. The vid Katie was about to show must have been one of the last times she’d seen her mother. His heart ached at the realization, but he kept quiet; Katie needed to be able to share these memories without worrying about making the adults around her sad.
“This is when you were just born,” Katie said. “I was staying with Miss Darcy while Daddy and Mommy went to the hospital in Starkville to have you. Miss Darcy brought me to visit so I could see.” She hit the button to start the playback.
“Are you ready to go meet your new little sister?” It was Darcy’s voice, unmistakeably, and the camera was pointed down at a much littler Katie, who was walking in front of her almost bouncing on her toes in excitement. She was so tiny, Clint thought, but she still looked so much like the Katie he knew, bubbling over with excitement at the prospect of meeting the baby. It hurt, to think of someone having to look at that bright little face and tell her that her mom was never coming home.
Clint wondered if it had been Phil who'd had to do it. He hoped not, but he kind of thought it had been. Phil wasn't the type of man to shirk his duty, especially not the horrible ones.
On the screen, tiny Katie was still grinning up into the camera.
“Yeah! And see Mommy and Daddy!” She skipped for a few steps. “Miss Darcy, will baby Skye play with me like Tommy and Billy play together?”
“Tommy and Billy are twins, so they’re the same age,” Darcy said. “Skye’s too little to play right now, but I’m sure she’ll play with you when she’s older.”
“I’ll play with you, Katie!” present Skye piped up. “I like to play with you!”
Katie smiled at her. “I like playing with you, too,” she said. “Now watch, we’re about to go see you.”
On the vid, Darcy was opening a door into a bright room with medical equipment mounted to the walls.
“Mommy! Daddy!” Little Katie on the video ran over toward the other side of the room, and Katie paused the video. “Look, Skye,” she said. “There’s Mommy in the bed. She was resting because she was tired. And Daddy’s there in the chair holding you!”
Darcy had indeed aimed the camera so that Phil and Audrey were in the middle of the frame. Audrey was propped up in bed, her long hair in a braid snaking over her shoulder, smiling sleepily toward where Katie was running toward her. Phil was sitting beside the bed in an overstuffed chair, angled mostly away from the camera, but his profile where he was turning toward Katie was unmistakeable. He had a blanket-wrapped bundle in his arms with a tuft of dark hair emerging from it.
Skye leaned forward, eyes wide. “Me? Where? I don’t see!”
“You’re really little,” Katie explained. “See the yellow blanket Daddy’s holding? There’s your hair at the end.”
“Wow,” Skye said. “I was super little!”
“We’ll see you better in a minute,” Katie said, then started the playback again. Her younger self was scrambling up onto the bed beside her mother, and Audrey was beaming at her, wrapping her arm around her and pulling her close to kiss her cheek.
“There’s my big girl,” she said, and Clint realized with some shock that he’d never actually heard Audrey’s voice before, only seen her picture. It was a beautiful voice, low and melodic even though she was obviously still recovering. He wondered how she'd sounded when she was angry, swearing like the Navy's best the way Phil said she used to. He wondered if the girls would sound like her, when they were grown.
“We missed you, baby,” Phil said. His voice was almost entirely the same, except that Clint wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Phil sound so completely happy; it made his chest squeeze with a complicated pain. “Were you good for Miss Darcy?”
“Of course, Daddy.” On the video, Katie gave Phil a disdainful look; Clint knew it well, and it looked even funnier on her much smaller, rounder face. Darcy brought the camera in close.
“She’s been good as gold,” Darcy said. “But she couldn’t wait to come meet her new sister!”
“Is that her?” Katie kneeled up, leaning over the rail of the bed to peer into Phil’s arms. “I can’t see!”
“Sit back here with me, sweetheart, and Daddy will bring her over,” Audrey said, catching hold of the back of Katie’s shirt when she tipped a little too far over the edge of the rail for comfort. “Do you want to hold her?”
“Yes!” Katie plopped back down, scooting back next to her mom and holding out her arms expectantly.
Darcy zoomed the camera in on Phil, showing his face clearly for the first time, and Clint’s breath caught in his throat. He looked tired (not surprising, given the circumstances), but his expression was soft and full of joy as he looked over at Katie. “Hold out your arms,” he said, and Darcy followed him with the camera as he stood—a little stiffly, and Clint remembered that Phil had been newly recovered from the injury that had led him to retire from NavInt. Katie was holding her arms out in front of her, looking like she might vibrate right off the bed with excitement, and Audrey was watching the scene with a fond smile.
Phil laid baby Skye across Katie’s lap, holding her steady as Audrey helped Katie adjust her hold.
“You’ve got to make sure to support her head,” Phil said softly. “She’s too little to hold it up by herself yet.” Clint could see that Audrey was keeping a steadying hand nearby, but Katie seemed to be taking her charge very seriously, concentrating so hard she looked like she was hardly breathing.
Skye as a newborn had looked much like most other newborns Clint had seen; she was small and red and squashed looking, with dark hair sticking up in a tuft. Katie had been enraptured, though. “Hi,” she said, softly. “I’m your big sister Katie.” She bent her head, slow and careful, and kissed the top of the baby’s head.
Phil and Audrey looked at one another, trading small, sweet smiles, the sort of expression that spoke volumes of meaning that nobody but themselves could read.
“Look at you,” Phil said, his voice sweet and warm. “My girls.” He bent over the bed, wrapping his arm around Katie and pressing a long kiss to her forehead before leaning over further to kiss Audrey, who reached up to ruffle his hair.
"We sure are," she said, smiling up at him. "Aren't you lucky?"
"The luckiest man in the galaxy."
She laughed, an intimate, warm little chuckle. "And don't you forget it."
"Never," Phil said, and kissed her again.
Clint had worried a little, when he’d realized what Katie was going to show them, that he’d feel... insecure, or inferior, or kind of jealous, to see them all together. That he’d start comparing himself with Audrey again, and come up short. But as he watched them on the vid, how happy they were, all he felt was a deep ache. They’d been... radiant, so deeply content together, and as Phil looked at his wife and daughters his face had shone with such love and pride that Clint almost felt like he was seeing something he shouldn’t, something too sacred for him to watch.
He wanted to see that look on Phil’s face again. He wanted Phil to be that happy.
On the vid, baby Skye screwed up her face and started fussing.
“I think that’s my cue,” Audrey said, taking the baby from Katie. “Lunchtime for this one.”
“And probably my cue to stop recording,” Darcy said with a laugh. She panned around the room once more, catching everyone’s bright, joyful faces. “Goodbye!”
The vid stopped, frozen on a still of the little family, looking toward a future that would never come. Clint’s arms tightened around the girls a little, as though he could retroactively protect them from that hurt.
The girls were quiet for a minute.
“Katie, you were happy I was your sister, weren’t you?” Skye said.
“Yeah,” Katie said, sniffing a little. “We were all really happy you were there, Skye. Mommy and Daddy were too.”
“That’s a good story,” Skye decided.
“It sure is,” Clint said, clearing his throat. “Thank you, Katie, for sharing that good memory.”
“Thank you,” Skye echoed, belatedly.
Katie smiled, a little watery but real. “Maybe we can look at some other ones some time.”
“I think that sounds like a great idea,” Clint said, and Skye nodded agreement.
Katie put her album away, and Clint let himself be roped into a building-block session that resulted in yet another impressive castle with attached research and development facilities as well as a riding stable. He hoped that doing something normal and fun would help Katie settle a little (and by doing so, keep Skye from getting upset again; she seemed to be mostly over what had happened the night before. Frankly, Clint was glad to have one member of the family he wasn’t worrying over.)
So far, the plan seemed to be working. The girls quickly got absorbed in their project, enough that Clint was able to pull back a little, handing over blocks when requested but not saying much. He had a lot to think about, and it was just as easy to chew over it all while sitting on the floor with the girls as anywhere else. The permanent resident visa solved a lot of problems, but it created a couple, too; Clint’s decision trees had been a lot simpler when his choices were “leave the planet at the end of May” and “stay on Stark’s World as Phil’s husband.” Now, possibility after possibility loomed in front of him. He didn’t exactly know much about rents on Stark’s World, it never having been an issue before, but he knew enough about prices from Phil’s household accounts that he could tell any one of the job offers he’d received that morning would be more than sufficient for him to live here comfortably.
He didn’t have to stay with the Coulsons anymore. He could move out like Darcy had moved out, find himself some rooms in Mariana or Starkville. He wouldn’t have to give up on the idea of Phil, either; they could slow down their pace, date like normal people would, give Phil plenty of time to see if his heart would ever be ready to give marriage another shot.
Clint tried to imagine it; maybe ending up on the emergency childcare roster right next to Steve and Peggy and Darcy. Taking the shuttle out to the house to have dinner with Phil and the girls on the weekends.
He looked over at Skye and Katie, carefully extending a walkway of their castle to connect with one of the bookshelves, and his heart ached at the thought. He could move out, sure, get his own rooms and set up an unentangled life, but it would be a sham. He’d gotten entangled already, the girls wound about his heart like he’d loved them from birth, and the thought of going to sleep every night in an empty room, no little hurts to soothe, no bedtime stories to tell or baths to give, made him ache. It was probably too soon to feel that strongly, but Natasha had been right about Clint; his heart always had been bigger than his head. And he wanted to love people, wanted people to love. Natasha was his best friend and his big sister and his surrogate mother and his hero, but if Clint was totally honest with himself, he knew that even before the Bratva he'd still been a little lonely. He wasn't made to have only one person in his life, however dear. His heart had been hungry, and the girls' easy and uncomplicated affection had been every bit as nourishing as the rich food on the Coulson's table. It would have been more surprising, really, if Clint hadn't learned to love them almost at once.
And then there was Phil.
Clint’d never felt coerced by his situation—he’d been telling the truth when he’d told Phil that he could tell he was trying to put them on level ground—but all the same, he had been off-balance, trying to see if he could fit in a place totally unlike anywhere he’d ever been. And always at the back of his mind had been the knowledge of the Bratva, the knowledge that he should make this time on Stark’s World last as long as he could.
His “mission.” To make himself irreplaceable, so he’d be allowed to stay.
Well, mission accomplished, he supposed. Officially certified by the man who owned the planet, no less. Nat would be proud. Clint was proud, honestly, except for the part of him that was terrified.
He’d lied to Phil a little that morning, when he’d said “I think I could fall in love with you.” Because the truth was, if Clint forced himself to look? He’d fallen for Phil already.
It hadn’t been a bolt from the blue, like it had been with him a few times before. He honestly couldn’t even say when his liking (and yes, more than a little lust) had turned into love. It might have continued to grow unnoticed for weeks more, months more, settling in quietly beneath the smokescreen of childcare and housework and learning about the colony, of meeting people and making good impressions. Maybe it would have been easier that way. But he’d never know, because the shock of the wolf attack had blown all that away like so much mist, leaving the truth stark and vibrant in his mind.
He loved them, all three of them. He loved Skye’s mixed-up manners and Katie’s imperiousness, loved how sweet and funny and stubborn and baffling they were, loved the clever little minds he could see growing every day and the kind little hearts that had opened to Clint so readily. He loved Phil, his tenderness and sense of humor, his protectiveness and his wit. He loved the way Phil’s spy training sometimes fought with his desire for honesty and integrity. He loved how brave Phil was, to suffer to much and keep going. And on top of it all, as though Phil’s heart and his mind and his spirit weren’t enough, was Phil’s body, which had made Clint’s libido sit up and take notice almost from the first.
It was frightening, feeling so much and not knowing if it would ever be returned. The man Clint had been on Earth might have run, too afraid to risk that much of himself on something less than certain. But...
But Phil had made him a promise. A promise to try. A promise that he wanted to meet Clint on even ground. That it would be Clint, or nobody.
Phil had hurt so much, was hurting still. But Clint didn’t think he was built to be alone forever either. He loved too much, gave too freely. He needed someone there to give back to him.
He needed Clint. And Clint needed him. And they both needed the girls, and the girls needed them, too.
Maybe it wasn’t going to happen by May, now. And maybe Clint’s days would be spent a little differently then he’d first imagined. But he had all of Stark’s World to choose from, and now he knew: he chose to stay right here.
“Clint?” Katie’s soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “Are you okay?”
“Sorry, baby, I was lost in my head for a minute there,” Clint said. “Whatcha need?”
“We finished with our castle,” Katie said.
“Wow,” Clint said, looking at the edifice and giving an impressed whistle. “Girls, that’s a great castle. That’s almost as tall as Katie!”
The girls grinned at each other, pleased, and Clint had an idea.
“Hey, why don’t you stand next to your castle and I’ll take your picture, all right?”
Everyone seemed pleased with that idea, and Clint snapped several pictures of the girls showing off their creation and uploaded them to the house server so Phil could see them later.
“Are you done with your blocks, or do you still want to play with them for a while?”
“I think I’m done,” Katie said. “What about you, Skye?”
“I’m done too,” Skye decided. “I want to play something else now.”
“Okay, let’s pick up the blocks, and then we’ll go do something else.” Clint checked his comm while the castle’s constituent parts were being put away. Phil’s light was still solid green, and the girls had eaten breakfast late enough that he thought they wouldn’t need lunch for a little while yet. If Phil wasn’t awake by a late lunchtime, Clint might need to wake him; he doubted Phil would want to miss two consecutive work days, and Clint would hate for his sleep schedule to get skewed in the middle of the week.
“Clint?”
He looked down; Skye was tugging at his good hand. “Yeah?”
“How did you get lost inside your head? You didn’t go away.”
He chuckled. “That’s an expression, sweetie. It means I was thinking really hard about something, and because I was thinking so hard, I wasn’t paying a lot of attention to anything else.”
“Oh.” She thought for a minute. “What were you thinking about?”
“Skye,” Katie said, and maybe it was wrong of him, but Clint was actually glad to hear a little bossiness creeping back into her tone. “You can’t ask people that, it’s private.”
“I don’t mind if you ask,” Clint said. “But just remember I might not always tell you, yeah?”
They nodded.
“But in this case, it is something I can tell you.” Clint held out his bandaged arm, and Katie tucked herself under it; he turned his other hand so he was holding Skye’s. “I was thinking about how special you two are to me, and about how much I love you.”
It felt strange, to say it out loud; frightening, but also exhilarating. It was good to look at them and feel free to tell them the truth about his feelings.
It had been a long time since he’d been able to tell anyone but Natasha the truth about his feelings.
Katie drew a sharp little breath, and buried her head in his side. He tried to hold her a little closer without jarring his arm. “Katie-Kate? You okay?”
She nodded, not lifting her face. He paused, uncertain whether to push a little or just give her a minute, when Skye tugged on his other hand again.
“Clint,” she said. “Pick me up, okay? Excuse me.”
“I can do that,” he told her, repressing a smile, and managed to scoop her up onto his hip without jarring Katie too much. Once he had a good hold on Skye, she leaned her head on his shoulder, grabbing onto the collar of his shirt with one hand (and pulling it uncomfortably snug around his throat.)
“We love you too, Clint,” she said. “Right, Katie?”
“Honey,” Clint started, not wanting to put words into Katie’s mouth, but Katie interrupted him.
“That’s right, Skye,” she said, lifting her head. Her eyes were red again, but her jaw was set in a familiar way. “We love you a lot, Clint.”
It felt like taking a punch, almost, if taking a punch could be good. It knocked the breath out of him pretty much the same. It wasn’t like it should have been a surprise—he’d certainly known the girls liked him, after all, and hadn’t he just got done thinking about how much he’d come to love them in so little time? But hearing it was... hearing it was everything.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s sit on the couch for a little while. There’s something else I want to talk to you about.”
He settled himself in the middle of the couch again, the girls to either side. He was strangely reluctant to let them go, and they seemed to be feeling a little clingy themselves, so it worked out.
“What did you want to talk about?” Katie asked. She looked a little worried; fair enough, considering the sheer volume of serious talks the poor kid had undergone in the last day.
“Nothing bad,” Clint said. “I hope you’ll think it’s good, in fact.” He paused, trying to think of the best way to bring up the topic. “Remember how we talked about how I needed permission to come to Stark’s World, and I got permission to come visit you?”
“All the way until summer,” Katie said warily.
“Right, because the kind of permission I had was to come for a visit that lasted three months.” He pressed on, because Katie was starting to look upset, and he didn’t want to make her think something bad was happening. “I got a note from your Uncle Tony this morning, that said that since I had helped save Mariana from the wolf, I have permission to be what they call a permanent resident on Stark’s World. That means that I can live here now the same as you do, and nobody can make me leave.” He left out the part about the felony; he had no intention of committing any crimes, and he didn’t want the girls to start worrying that getting deported was like some sort of adult time-out.
“So... you aren’t leaving in the summer?” Katie looked up at him, eyes huge. “You’re gonna stay with us? For... for how long?”
“I plan on staying on Stark’s World for a long, long time,” he said. “And even if I have to take a trip somewhere, I plan on coming back here when I’m done.” He looked between the girls. “I don’t know for sure if I’m always going to live at your house, but I know I plan on staying here as long as you all want me to stay.”
“We want you to stay forever,” Katie said. “Don’t we, Skye?”
“Yup,” Skye agreed, lolling over Clint’s lap and digging her pointy little elbows into his thigh. “Forever an’ever.”
Clint smiled down at them. It wasn’t that easy, of course, but it was good to know that the girls weren’t any more anxious for Clint to move on than he was. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m glad.”
“Are you gonna get a job now, like Daddy?” Katie asked. “Since you live here for real now?”
“I think I am,” Clint said. “I don’t know exactly which one, yet. I have to talk to some people first, and see where I can help out the most.”
“You like helping,” Skye said, nodding sagely. “We learned about helping at school. It’s good to help other people.”
“You’re right, it is.” Clint smoothed his hand over her head. “A lot of people have helped me, in my life, so I try to help people too.” There was something healing about being needed, honestly, about being the one with something to give. “But I do know one job that someone offered me that I’m definitely not going to take.”
“What job is that?” Katie looked interested. “Why don’t you want to do it?”
“Whitney Frost’s dad wants me to come work for him,” Clint said. “And I’m not going to, because he wants me to live at their house instead of here, and I don’t want to do that.”
“And he can’t make you, right Clint? Because you live here on Stark’s World forever now.” Her tone begged for reassurance.
He leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “You are absolutely right, Katie-Kate,” he said. “He can’t make me, so I’m not gonna. I thought you might like to help me write him an answer and tell him so.”
“Yes,” Katie said fiercely, and Clint hoped he hadn’t bitten off more than he could chew. Katie looked like she wanted to go to war.
Well, hopefully he could help her channel her aggression into cutting courtesy and save Whitney Frost getting pushed off any more playground equipment, Even if she was a horrible little pill, at her age it really wasn’t her fault. That level of entitlement came from somewhere, and Clint would lay good money that somewhere was Byron Frost.
“I want to help too,” Skye chimed in.
“Let me pull up my mail, and you can both help,” Clint said. He grabbed his StarkTab and opened a new message, refraining from addressing it yet, just in case.
“Okay,” he said. “What should we say?”
“Dear Mr. Stupid Poopyface,” Katie suggested loudly, crossing her arms.
Clint bit back a smile, but typed it. “Dear Mr. Stupid - is ‘Poopyface’ one word or two?”
“One,” Katie said.
“Poopyface, got it.” Skye giggled, putting her hands over her mouth, and Clint really hoped this little exercise wasn’t going to come back to bite him. “Next?”
“Clint is never ever coming to work for you.”
“I’m supposed to be the one writing the letter,” Clint said. “Should we say ‘I’?”
“Okay. I—that means you, Clint—am never ever coming to work for you because you are mean and Whitney is mean and I am nice and I love Katie and Skye best. You might want me to come live at your house but I won’t and you can’t make me and if you think you can you are a big stupid dummy.”
“Very direct,” Clint said, transcribing faithfully. “Anything else?”
“Love, Clint. You don’t love him but that’s how you sign letters. And then P.S., My daddy says—wait, I mean, Mr. Phil Coulson says you are a bowverating asshole, so there.”
Skye gasped theatrically. “Katie! You said a swear!”
Katie looked a little nervous, but set her chin stubbornly. “I didn’t say it,” she said. “Daddy said it, on the comm to Miss Darcy one time. I was quoting, so it doesn’t count.”
“A. A what now?” Clint asked faintly. “I mean, I got the... the swear part. What was the word before it?”
“Bowverating,” Katie said. “Daddy was talking about how Whitney’s daddy used up all the time at the PTA meeting talking and nobody else got a turn, so I think it means that he’s a selfish stupidhead who won’t share.”
A light dawned. “Katie, could he have maybe said ‘bloviating’?”
“Maybe,” Katie allowed.
“All right.” Clint finished typing the letter, keeping a straight face with difficulty. He was definitely keeping a copy of this to share with Darcy later.
“Okay, I’ve saved this copy. But before you send a message, it’s always a good idea to read back over it and think about whether it’s really what you want to send, because you can’t take it back once you send it.”
“I don’t want to take it back,” Katie said, her voice rising and her chin tilting dangerously. “I want Whitney’s daddy to know that he’s a stupid poopyface for trying to steal you from us.”
“What do you think might happen if we sent Mr. Frost this message?”
“He’d know!”
“Anything else?”
Katie sighed. “I guess maybe it might hurt his feelings,” she said reluctantly.
“It might,” Clint agreed, though privately he doubted it.
“But Whitney hurt my feelings! Why does she get to say things and I can’t say them back? That’s not fair!”
Clint leaned over and kissed her indignant little face. “It doesn’t feel fair, does it? Whitney hurt your feelings and scared you yesterday and I know you’re really mad.”
Katie nodded. “And then I got in trouble! And... and everything.”
“Yeah. It feels really bad, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“Let me ask you something.” Clint hoped this would work, or he was going to have to think fast to get out of sending a man he’d never met a message addressed to Mr. Stupid Poopyhead. “When you felt bad, people helped you feel better, right?”
Katie sniffed. “America did,” she said. “An’ you and Daddy, last night.”
“So Whitney said things that made you feel bad, and America and me and Daddy said things that made you feel better.”
She nodded.
“So when other people think of Katie, would you rather they thought of you as someone who makes people feel bad? Or as someone who makes people feel good?”
She frowned, then heaved a sigh. “Feel good,” she said. “I don’t want to be mean like Whitney.”
“I’m glad, honey,” Clint said.
“Do I have to be nice to Whitney though? She’s mean and I don’t like her!”
“Nope.”
Katie stared at him, looking shocked. “I don’t? But you just said!”
“You don’t have to be nice to her,” Clint said. “You just have to be polite.”
“But polite is being nice!”
“With manners,” Skye chimed in, looking like this was an area where she knew her ground.
“Usually,” Clint agreed. “But think about this. Does your dad like Whitney’s dad?”
“I don’t think so,” Katie said. “He called him a... you-know-what. And when he came to a meeting at Daddy’s work and Daddy was telling Miss Darcy about it later he made this face.” She scrunched her face into an expression of disgust that managed to look simultaneously eerily like Phil and utterly hilarious on her round little features.
“Right,” Clint said, his jaw aching with restrained laughter. “So do you think your dad is mean to Mr. Frost when he sees him, like at that meeting at his work?”
“No,” Katie said decisively. “Daddy’s never mean to anybody.”
“But is he nice? Like, think of how he treats Miss Darcy or Uncle Steve. Does he treat Mr. Frost the same way?”
“No,” Katie said. “He doesn’t talk to him much. And then no matter how much he talks, Daddy just says ‘thank you for your input, Byron’ and then he talks to somebody else.”
Clint could picture it, and to be honest he kind of wanted to see it in person.
“So,” he said. “What if we tried the letter again, and this time tried to see if we could make it be polite but not nice?”
She perked up. “You can do that?”
“Sure,” Clint said. “My friend Natasha taught me how. She was really good at it.”
“Okay, let’s do that,” Katie said. “I guess we should say his name, then. Dear Mr. Frost?”
"We could say that, but we could say something else, too. Do you know why people use ‘dear’ at the start of letters?”
She shook her head. “I thought it was just what you put.”
“’Dear’ is a way to say that someone is special to you,” Clint explained.
“Like when you wrote me a letter, before you came!” Katie looked up at him, grinning. “You wrote Dear Katie.”
“Exactly right,” Clint said. “But Mr. Frost isn’t special to me, so to write him a letter I would just use his name.” He opened a new message and typed “Mr. Frost:” at the top.
“Now, the next thing in the letter was where I say I’m not taking the job,” he said. “If someone offers you something you don’t want, what is a polite way of saying you don’t want it?”
“No thank you,” Skye piped up.
“Good choice,” Clint said. “So, maybe I would start by saying something like this.” He thought for a minute. “’I’m afraid I must decline the position of Head of Security position at B.F. Enterprises.’ That’s a fancy way to say ‘no thank you’ for the job.”
“I’m afraid I must decline,” Katie said thoughtfully.
Clint had a sinking premonition that he’d be hearing that phrase again sooner than he might wish. Oh, well. At least it wasn’t “poopyface.” He typed the phrase into the message. “So next, we said that one reason I wouldn’t take the job was because I don’t want to go live at his house.”
“Because you love us best,” Katie said.
“Exactly. So I might say something like ‘this opportunity, while interesting, is unfortunately not aligned with my career or personal priorities.’”
“What’s that one mean?”
“Well, by ‘opportunity’ I’m still talking about the job. Saying something is interesting can mean interesting in a good way or interesting in a bad way, so I’m not saying that I like it when I don’t, but I’m not being rude, either. And when I say it’s not aligned with my priorities, that means that it’s not one of the things I want to do with my life. Because I want to live here, and he wanted me to move, you understand?”
“I think so,” Katie said. “So you tell him things that are polite, and you know that you mean ‘interesting’ like ‘stupid,’ but he doesn’t know that?”
“That’s right.” .
They finished the refusal letter together, ending up with a stiffly courteous little note that managed to convey his complete disdain for Frost’s offer while avoiding saying anything offensive. Katie, meanwhile, seemed quite taken with the idea of having socially-acceptable ways to call someone a stupid poopyface. He wondered whether he and Phil would be getting another note from Katie’s teacher soon.
“Okay, it’s ready,” he said. “Do you want to push the button to send it?”
“Yes, please,” Katie said, her eyes gleaming, and he held out the tablet. She hit the button with obvious relish, bouncing a little in excitement, and he hoped this would put her fears to rest.
It was already past the girls’ regular lunchtime by the time they finished the letter, and it had been long enough since Phil went to sleep that Clint should probably wake him if he was to have any chance at sleeping later that night.
“Your dad is probably going to wake up pretty soon,” he told them. “Would you like to help me make some lunch for all of us?”
Katie gasped, clapping her hands together in delight. “Clint!” she said. “I have a really great idea!”
Clint smiled, happy to see her acting more like her usual self. “Yeah? What is it?”
“We should make Daddy breakfast in bed for lunch! Like I told you about in my memory! And we could make him griddle cakes like your mommy made for you when you were little! And then we could all have special lunch together because you live on Stark’s World now and nobody got ate by the wolf!”
The thought of it ached, but there was a sweetness there, too. If things had been different, Clint thought, in a different universe where Poppa hadn't—where things had been better, he thought that Momma would have loved it if Clint made her griddle cakes for the girls.
For his girls.
“That,” Clint said, “Is certainly a really great idea, Katie. What do you say, Skye, shall we do a breakfast-in-bed celebration lunch for your dad?”
“Yeah!” Skye said. “I like breakfast. And beds.”
He smiled. “Well then, let’s get to it.”
They trooped into the kitchen, and Clint pulled up the breakfast recipes in the house system, flipping through the favorites. He found a griddle cake recipe that seemed like it would do, and decided to pair it with bacon (because protein was important) and some fruit, because Clint would never get over how amazing it was to live somewhere that real, fresh fruit was just something you ate whenever you wanted to.
Clint kept an eye on the girls as he pulled down ingredients and pre-measured them into the little dishes that Phil had for that purpose. It had seemed stupidly fancy the first time he’d tried it, but the kitchen system said to do it that way and it did actually make it easier once you got going if you had everything measured out ahead of time.
He let Skye dump the ingredients in the bowl (keeping a subtle hand nearby in case of wobbles) and Katie stir the batter; they were both careful, with adorable twin looks of concentration on their faces, and he wished he had a free hand to snap another picture without distracting them from their task.
He made them back up while he heated the griddle, still feeling daring and exhilarated as he dropped thick pats of butter down to grease it instead of the thin, tasteless cooking oil he was used to on earth. The girls took turns picking shapes, and he did his best to make the griddle cakes look like what they wanted. His stars and moons and hearts were fairly successful, his attempts at a horse, a sheep, and “Uncle Steve” less so, but Katie and Skye seemed equally impressed with them all.
Katie ran the batches to the stasis table as they came off the griddle, and the bacon was just getting done by the time they got to the bottom of the batter bowl. He sent the girls to get the “picnic” supplies ready while he prepped the fruit, Katie pulling out the set of trays that Clint hadn’t realized existed and Skye carefully laying a napkin over each one.
He pulled up the house interface and set Phil’s room lights to slowly brighten over the next few minutes, hoping it would lead to a more gentle awakening, then turned to the question of how exactly he was supposed to get a meal for four upstairs with two small children and one good arm. The logistics were a bit difficult, but he finally cobbled together a solution.
“Okay, girls, have we got everything? Everyone know their job?”
They agreed with enthusiasm, Katie holding a basket full of picnic accoutrements and Skye clutching a (shatter-and-spill-proof) covered bowl of sliced strawberries in both hands. Clint gathered his own heavily laden tray (which was actually a stack of trays, with most of the food on top of the pile) and grinned at their beaming faces.
“Lead on, ladies,” he said. “Katie, remember to knock on the door, okay?”
“I will, Clint,” Katie said, already starting for the stairs. “You told me that already.”
“All right,” Clint said. “Let’s go, then.”
They were a motley little procession, Katie in the lead with her sister following, imitating her posture right down to the proud tilt of her head, and Clint bringing up the rear; he looked more like an overburdened waiter than anything else, due to the need to favor his injured arm. (He’d been undercover as waitstaff enough; he was glad he’d apparently not lost the plate-balancing knack over the years.)
As they approached Phil’s door, Clint could see his light blinking; he’d already woken, so at least Clint wouldn’t have to worry that they would startle him out of his sleep. Katie, with the air of an operative slotting seamlessly into a tactical plan, set the basket down gently on the floor and knocked on Phil’s door.
“Daddy, can we come in?” she called. “We brought you a good surprise!”
There was a short pause, then Phil called “Come on in, sweetheart,” and Katie opened the door, then picked up her basket and marched inside. Phil was sitting up in bed, blinking into the light. He still looked like five miles of rough road, but the sleep had done him good; he’d lost the hollow, despairing expression that had broken Clint’s heart to see in the barn, and instead looked rumpled and vulnerable, his face sweet and still a little sad as he looked at his girls.
“Good morning, Daddy!” Katie called. “We brought you special breakfast-in-bed lunch today! Me and Skye helped cook it with Clint!”
“I helped!” Skye said, raising her bowl aloft for a somewhat-perilous moment before clutching it to her chest again.
“Wow,” Phil said. His voice was rough, not quite recovered from the night before. He was watching Katie like he was afraid she might disappear; Clint knew the feeling. “Are we having a party?”
“It’s a celebration,” Katie told him seriously, setting her basket on the floor. “Because Clint killed the wolf so it couldn’t eat anybody. And! Guess what, Daddy!”
Phil’s face did something complicated, then smoothed into a little half-smile. “What, baby?”
“Clint gets to stay here forever now because Uncle Tony says he’s a hero!”
“He didn’t say that, Katie,” Clint murmured, embarrased.
“That’s what he meant though,” Katie said, unconcerned. “Daddy, did you hear me? Clint can stay!”
“I know, sweetheart, he told me last night,” Phil said. “Well. Early this morning. That is good news.” He caught Clint’s eye for a moment and smiled, a little more real this time, and Clint smiled back, helpless not to. Clint remembered how Phil had slumped against his side, the night before, shaking and overwhelmed with emotion, and how good it had felt to be able to offer comfort. He hoped that, whatever comfort Phil still needed, he and the girls between them could provide.
“Come on, Skye, get up so Clint can give us our trays,” Katie ordered. The girls climbed up on the bed, Skye finally relinquishing her bowl so that she could get into place. Phil moved over a little, letting Skye tuck herself against one side while Katie sat on the other, in the middle of the bed.
“Clint, can I give you a hand?” Phil asked, looking anxiously at Clint’s bandaged arm.
“Thanks, but I’m balanced right now,” Clint said. “It’s gotta come down in a certain order or I’ll drop it all.” He set the top tray down at the foot of the bed, then handed out the other three; Phil helped the girls each get their tray set up over their laps. Clint gave them each a plate and some silverware, then served out the food one dish at a time: griddle cakes, bacon, and strawberries. He put a little crock of butter and a warm jug of syrup on Phil’s tray, figuring that would be the best way to prevent spills, then went back into Katie’s basket for the sealed travel mugs that held the girls’ milk and his and Phil’s coffee.
Once everything was doled out, he hovered at the foot of the bed. He wanted to stay, but if Phil needed alone time with his daughters Clint didn’t want to get in the way.
“Clint, come sit by me and eat your special lunch,” Katie ordered, patting the mattress on the other side of her from Phil. “You don’t want your cakes to get cold!”
Clint shot a quick look at Phil, who nodded, his eyes welcoming and kind. Clint somehow managed to get himself settled on top of the covers with his own tray without knocking anything over and set his coffee on the empty bedside table at his elbow. It felt weird, transgressive even, to occupy that space. But there was something thrilling about it, too, the lure of possibilities that their conversation in the barn had opened up in Clint’s imagination. That someday this might be his normal place, his side of their bed, was almost too big a thought to hold onto for more than a second.
He looked over at Phil, and caught Phil looking back, his expression thoughtful and turning shy when he met Clint’s eyes. Maybe Clint wasn’t the only one who was thinking of possible futures.
They kept the mealtime conversation light, until the last of the bacon and griddle cakes had gone and Katie was lazily chasing the last bites of strawberry around her plate. The food seemed to be building on the good work that the sleep had begun; Phil looked very nearly normal if you didn’t know him well enough to see the shadows behind his eyes.
“So,” Phil said, as Clint began to gather the dirty dishes together. “Why did we have breakfast in bed today for our special celebration lunch?”
Katie bit her lip and looked over at Clint. He gave her a gentle nod, his chest squeezing as he remembered how worried Katie had been about making her father sad.
“Clint and I were talking this morning,” she said, looking down at her plate. “We were telling happy memories about our mommies.”
Phil drew a sharp little breath, then visibly calmed himself, though his voice, when he spoke, was a little hoarser than it had been. “That’s good, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m glad you got to share those memories together.”
Katie looked up, brightening. “Uh-huh! And I told Clint about how when we were moving into this house from our old house you had to take a nap and then me and Mommy made you breakfast-in-bed for suppertime. And Clint told me about when he was little his mommy made them griddle cakes with fun shapes. So I decided we should have breakfast-in-bed for lunchtime with griddle cakes to remember about our mommies and be happy.”
Phil blinked hard, then put his arm around Katie’s shoulders and squeezed her tight, pressing a kiss to her hair. “That was a really good idea, Katie,” he said. “Mommy—“ his voice caught, but he took a steadying breath and pressed on. “Mommy would be so glad to see you remembering and being happy like this.”
“Katie told me a story,” Skye said, tugging on Phil’s other arm. “Daddy, Katie showed me us in her album. I was little! Katie held me.”
“Did she?” Phil’s eyes were shiny with unshed tears. “That was a really happy day. We were all so glad to meet you, Skye.”
“Everyone is,” Skye said matter-of-factly, and Clint had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at her even while his heart still ached for Phil.
“It sounds like you girls and Clint had a fun morning,” Phil said, leaning down to kiss them one after the other.
“We did, Daddy,” Katie said. “We built a block castle, and then Clint let us help him write a letter to Whitney’s daddy telling him he was a stupid poopyface, and then he taught us how to change the letter so it told him that politely.”
Phil looked nonplussed, and Clint tried to radiate don’t worry, we’re cool in his general direction.
“If you want, you two can go play for a while while your dad and I finish our coffee,” Clint said, arching a questioning eyebrow at Phil and getting a tiny nod in return. “We need to talk a little bit about boring stuff.”
“Okay,” Katie said. “C’mon, Skye, let’s play horses.”
She leaned up and kissed Phil on the cheek, then did the same to Clint, then scooted forward out from between them and crawled down to the foot of the bed to get down. Skye climbed down off the edge of the bed and followed her down the hall toward her room.
They were both quiet for a moment, listening to the drifting sounds of Katie's toybox opening and the girls dividing up her toy horses. Clint felt suddenly, painfully aware that he and Phil were sitting together, alone, on Phil’s bed, and that he'd been the one to suggest it, though at the time he'd just wanted to reassure Phil about the poopyface thing. The space between them where Katie had been felt simultaneously huge and tiny; Clint imagined he could feel Phil’s body heat prickling on his side.
“So, okay, the letter thing wasn’t as bad as it sounded,” Clint blurted.
“I didn’t think so,” Phil said, smiling a little. “Sounds like you had an eventful morning, though.” He tilted his head, looking at Clint carefully. “Have you slept at all?”
“Nah.” Clint shrugged, taking a big drink of his coffee. “Too wired, still. I’ll crash out hard later, probably, but I’m hoping I can make it until after dinner.”
“You know yourself better than I do,” Phil said, “but tell me if you need to duck out early.”
Clint nodded, though he didn’t think he’d be taking advantage of the offer. “So, ah, I guess I need to tell you what all happened while you were sleeping,” he said, feeling awkward. He hadn’t really had much call to do serious parent-type stuff with the girls before, just met them off the school shuttle and helped them get settled, or helped with routine stuff.
Phil looked at him, his face serious but open. “I’d appreciate hearing anything you feel I should know,” he said, “but I don’t want you to feel like you have to... report to me, or anything like that. I trust your judgement.”
“I... thanks,” Clint made a vague gesture with his coffee. “I’m still trying to figure stuff out, you know? I want to do right by them. By you, too.”
“You’re doing great so far,” Phil said. “You were wonderful with Katie last night.”
“Yeah?” Clint’s eyes stung a little. It meant a lot to hear that from Phil; he was so great with the girls himself, so patient and kind, the kind of father Clint had never even dreamed of having when he'd been small. If Phil said Clint was good, it had to be true. “I’m glad. I mean, I tried to help her, but. You know. Everything was pretty intense. And I just... I kept seeing it, you know? What. What could’ve...”
“Yeah.” Phil’s voice was thick, and they were both quiet for a while.
“Anyway, after you went to sleep I called you in to work and the girls in to school. Skye might’ve been able to go, but I thought, even if she didn’t see the wolf, she heard enough to scare her, so it would be good for her to stay home with the rest of us today?”
Phil nodded. “Good call.”
“Good, okay,” Clint said, relieved. “The girls slept for a while, but Katie woke up with a nightmare around eight. Darcy had sent me a note telling me she might, apparently it used to happen a lot?”
“It did.” Phil looked down at his coffee cup, his voice quieter. “After her mom died. At first they were about that, but then she started dreaming I died too, or Darcy, or Steve... anyone she cared about. Or that she lost the baby, or dropped her, and I was angry about it...” his voice cracked, and he stopped, clearing his throat. “So, ah, was it the wolf this time?”
“Yeah. It was going to eat me, apparently, and it would be her fault for disobeying you.” Clint shook his head. “Broke my heart,” he admitted. “She just... cried and cried, Phil, and I tried to hold her, comfort her, and she was just shaking in my arms.” He swiped his wrist across his eyes, sniffing. “Sorry. I just. She’s so little. I forget it sometimes, you know? She makes such a space for herself. But she’s still so small.”
“I know what you mean. When you... you’d do anything to make it better for them and nothing seems to be helping. You feel so powerless.”
Clint nodded. “I got her to talk about it, eventually,” he said. “I think... she’d heard someone saying I could’ve been killed last night, and that got her talking about her mom. So I, ah, I told her that my mom died, too. When I was the same age as she was when it happened. I didn’t tell her how, though. Didn’t want to give her more nightmares.”
“It was kind of you, to share that with her.” Phil looked over at him hesitantly, then laid his hand on the bed between them, palm up: an offer. Clint took it, forcing himself not to squeeze too tight; Phil knew, about his mom. He understood. Phil’s hand was warm and his grip was strong, and Clint felt buoyed up by it, like Phil was going to pull him up off a ledge, or something.
“How did she react?” Phil asked, after a moment.
“She asked me if I was still sad,” Clint said, and Phil’s hand tightened around his. “I told her yeah, I was still sad sometimes, but I liked to remember happy memories of her too, because she loved me and liked me to be happy. So I told her one—just about Momma making us griddle cakes, and I asked if she wanted to tell me one, and she told me about the breakfast in bed thing. It seemed to help.” He bit his lip. “Was... was it okay, talking about her mom with her like that? I don’t want to, to overstep or anything. I don’t have to do it again if you don’t want me to.”
“Clint,” Phil said, and his voice was hard to read, rough with something that Clint couldn’t quite identify. “Of course it was. I—Katie was so happy at lunch, so excited. It sounds like you handled everything exactly right. I just... if I seem upset it’s because I’m angry at myself. I never realized—it was hard for me to talk about Audrey, so I guess I just assumed she felt the same. I... I was almost glad when Katie stopped bringing her up so much. I told myself she was healing. And all the while she was afraid to bring it up to me because she didn’t want to make me sad—as though it were her responsibility to take care of me.” His voice broke, and he wrapped his arms around his middle, his shoulders hunching like he was ducking a blow. “I let her down so badly,” he whispered. “She needed me, she’d lost her mother and she needed me and I wasn’t there for her.”
“Phil, stop,” Clint said. His throat ached so much that he could hardly get the words out, but he couldn’t let Phil keep beating himself up like that. “No. Listen to me.”
Phil took a shaky, sobbing breath and looked over at Clint, his eyes red.
“I know I haven’t been here long,” Clint said. “But it's been completely clear to me since the very first day how much you and the girls mean to one another, and how much they love and trust you to take care of them. Sure, maybe it was a mistake that you didn’t push it more with Katie. But you were hurting too, and you were doing the best you could. You always do the best you can, Phil—I’m here now because of that. And now that we know what’s been happening, we can both encourage her to talk about her mom more, when she wants to.” He scooted over a little on the bed, close enough that he could bump Phil’s shoulder with his, trying to just be present for him, remind Phil that he was there to help. “Katie’s sharp, and for all she likes to chatter on it seems like she keeps a lotta stuff close to the vest. She’s gonna keep us on our toes, but she’s got a kind heart, you know? I bet you were just like that when you were a kid. She looks just like you sometimes, you know? Not even so much her face, but her expressions.”
“She reminds me a lot of my sister,” Phil said quietly. He was still looking down, but Clint could see tear tracks on his cheek. “Janey used to march me around at playtime just like Katie does with Skye. Mom used to call her ‘the little admiral.’”
“Sounds about right,” Clint said, wishing he could do more to comfort him. “Although, Phil. Is there any way you can pull strings and get her pre-emptively banned from joining the Navy when she grows up? Because I don’t think my heart could handle it.”
As soon as the words were out, Clint wanted to take them back; he hadn’t meant to, to presume like that. To talk like of course he would still be around when Katie grew up, to care what she did as a career. That was the idea, sure, but it was still so far from certain.
Phil chuckled, rusty and a little choked up, but genuine. “God, if only I could,” he said. “But I’m afraid if I tried it would make her determined to do it. Currently I’m pinning my hopes on Tony getting her interested in some kind of research she can do in a nice safe lab planetside, but who knows.”
Clint smiled. “Well, Skye always puts an R&D lab in her block castles,” he said, relieved that Phil hadn't taken his presumption badly. “I’m not sure she realizes yet that it isn’t literally candy that Stark means when he calls it ‘candyland,’ though.”
“I wouldn’t put it past him to develop some kind of confectionary-based science toys for her, honestly,” Phil said. “He sponsors the science fair at the school, there have been some notable incidents.”
“Oh?”
“Next time you see Bruce, get him to tell you about the potato battery,” Phil said. “I can’t do the story justice, but it was awe-inspiring.”
“I’ll remember that,” Clint promised. Phil was relaxing, now, leaning back against his propped-up pillows. Their arms were still pressed together, their hands still clasped. It was such a small thing, really; they were both fully clothed, Phil under the covers still and Clint on top of them, the only skin touching on their hands and forearms, but it felt... momentous, somehow. He hadn’t realized until he came to Stark’s World how much he was used to filling his home life with near-constant, affectionate touch. Natasha’s work had made her body a tool and a weapon, and she’d spent her long years deploying every touch like a bullet. But once she’d taken Clint in, he'd realized that she filled her sanctum deliberately with all the things that nourished her deep-shielded soul. She surrounded herself with beautiful things, soft things, fine things that stirred good memories; once Clint was part of that, she had lavished him with the simple, honest affection she could trust nobody else to give or receive. When they were alone together, they’d almost always been touching, curled up like a pair of orphaned puppies, like they could store up enough kindness to carry them through the next harsh day on Earth.
Clint realized, with some shock, that the night before had been the first time he'd touched another adult human for more than a few seconds since he and Natasha had said goodbye in the spaceport at Shanxi back in February. He’d had so many other worries that he hadn’t noticed—hadn’t let himself notice—but now that he had, it was like two months of skin hunger roared to the front of his mind all at once, making his skin prickle and his chest ache.
He wondered how Phil would react if Clint just came right out and asked him for a hug.
“So,” Phil said. “Tell me about this polite insulting letter you wrote to Byron Frost? I have to admit, I’m dying of curiosity.”
“Shit, I almost forgot,” Clint said. “He offered me a job, can you believe the nerve? Sitting right in my inbox first thing this morning. Wanted me to move into quarters on his ‘estate’ so I could coordinate security for him and his daughter. I’d almost admire his balls if it didn’t piss me off so much. That whole thing yesterday wouldn’t have happened if his daughter hadn’t been bullying Katie.” He shook his head. “I mean, I know she’s just a kid and it’s probably not her fault she’s awful, but geez, Phil, I’m kind of glad Katie pushed her off the slide.”
Phil looked over, his eyes crinkled with amusement. “Don’t ever tell Katie this—she doesn’t need the encouragement—but I’m having a hard time being as displeased over that as I probably should be myself,” he said. “It really isn’t her fault, though, at that age. Byron’s good at what he does but he’s a pompous narcissist and he seems to be doing his best to bring Whitney up to be just like him.”
“Funny,” Clint said, unable to resist. “I thought he was a bloviating asshole.”
“I—where’d you hear that?” The tips of Phil’s ears went red. “No, wait, I think I know. Katie?”
“To be fair, she informed me that it wasn’t bad to say a swear since she was quoting you instead of saying it herself,” Clint said, grinning. “Anyway, I was about to just reply to Frost and tell him to fuck right off, but then I got to thinking. Darcy told me that if Katie had bad dreams, it helped her to get independent evidence that whatever she’d dreamed hadn’t really happened, and she was so upset yesterday over the thought that Frost could make me work for him. I thought maybe if she saw that he’d really sent me a job offer and I let her help me turn it down, it would help her feel secure that it wouldn’t happen.”
“That’s a great idea,” Phil said. “She can be pretty skeptical for a seven-year-old; I think it’s Tony’s influence. So you let her help?”
“I let her dictate, first,” Clint said. “God, Phil, you’ve got to see the original letter she came up with, it’s hilarious. I’ll forward you a copy. She started it off ‘Dear Mr. Stupid Poopyface.’”
Phil barked out a laugh, then groaned, letting his weight rest a little more on Clint’s shoulder. “Of course she did,” he said. “So that’s the insulting part, I gather. How’d you get to polite?”
“I, ah. You remember the thing Stark said to me, before the meeting? Terran papers, Elysian fashion, and Bekkish manners?”
Phil nodded. “You do have Bekkish manners, when you’re trying to be formal,” he said. “Audrey’s family was from Bekenstein, and Navy HQ was there, so I had to learn one way or another. It’s not a bad thing, though.”
“You know I’d never been off Earth before I came here,” Clint said. “All that stuff, that was Natasha. She was the one who picked out what I should bring with me, and she was the one who taught me how to act in company. I grew up in the circus, I didn’t know shit about getting along in society. But she always said I needed to know, needed to be able to make my words a knife if I ever had to circulate with the cutthroats on the upper levels.”
“Sounds like she gave you diplomacy lessons,” Phil said, his voice mild but his eyes sharp and interested.
“Kind of, yeah,” Clint said. “I’m not as good at it as she is—she can take a few sentences and either tear you to pieces or have you feeling ten feet tall without saying anything that anyone would consider out of place. But I can hold my own. I know you said Katie has a temper on her, sometimes. I thought it might help her if she had, y’know, some way to deal with Whitney other than her or America pushing her off playground equipment. Something that wouldn’t get her in trouble but let her feel like she had some power, does that make sense?”
“It makes perfect sense,” Phil said. “So what did you tell her?”
“I kind of talked her through it, piece by piece, and told her ways to get the message across without calling anyone a poopyface,” Clint said. “She was really into the idea that she could call something ‘interesting’ and mean ‘stupid,’ so, y’know, fair warning on that. But it seemed to make her feel better.”
“Honestly, I kind of look forward to seeing what she’ll come up with.” Phil smiled at him, the humor in his eyes genuine despite the strain still readable on his face. Clint smiled back. Phil’s arm was warm through their sleeves and his hand, still holding Clint’s, was strong. Clint had a sudden mental image of himself, sitting with Phil like this, but under the covers, in his own sleepwear; of turning to kiss the place at the corner of Phil’s smile where he had the ghost of a dimple; of cuddling against Phil’s broad chest and sliding down into the bed and going to sleep, safe and lov... cared for.
Maybe, Clint thought. Someday, maybe.
He shook himself out of his daydream and let go of Phil’s hand with a reluctant squeeze. “Let me get the rest of this downstairs while you get dressed,” he said. “I’ll crash if I stay still for too much longer, and I just finally got over my spacelag like a week ago; I don’t want to mess up my sleep schedule any more than I absolutely have to.”
Phil sighed. “Good point,” he said. “As much as crashing sounds appealing at the moment, we’d regret it later.” He bumped Clint’s shoulder with his own, and then helped Clint pack up the leftover food and the dirty dishes. “I’ll help carry this all down,” he offered. Clint could have carried everything himself, but then he wouldn’t have gotten to extend the time that he and Phil worked side by side, jointly handling a domestic task, like they were a real couple.
They piled everything on the kitchen counter, and Phil turned to go upstairs, to check on the girls (who had been quiet enough for long enough to make them both antsy) and then get dressed. As he turned, he hesitated, then turned back toward Clint, an uncertain expression on his face. “Would it be okay if I—I mean, would you like to...” he trailed off, then set his jaw a little and held his arms out a little, in front of himself and open; it was the same gesture he used, Clint realized, when he offered the girls hugs.
“Yeah,” Clint said, and he had to clear his throat. “Yes, please,” and he stepped up into Phil’s arms.
He was hesitant, at first, not knowing exactly what Phil was offering; the little squeeze-and-release he gave the girls before they left for school in the morning? The quick, back-pat hug Clint had seen him exchange with Steve? Clint didn’t want to cling to the guy like the baby monkey in Skye’s picture book if he hadn’t meant for it to go that far. He laid his hands lightly on Phil’s shoulderblades, resisting the urge to hold on tight until he saw what Phil was planning.
Phil’s body was tense as he put his arms around Clint’s waist, his hands coming to rest hesitantly on the small of his back. They stood there for a long moment, awkward and unsure, before Clint heard and felt Phil sigh, and then slump, and then Phil tightened his hold and pulled Clint in, snug against his body. Clint went with the motion gladly, tightening his own arms in turn, and let his head rest on Phil’s shoulder.
Phil wasn’t wearing the cologne that Clint had come to associate with him, but Clint was close enough to the bare skin of his throat to smell him anyway. He needed a shower, if Clint was totally honest, needed to wash away the sour tang of panic-sweat that still lingered past his perfunctory wipe-down the night before. But Clint didn’t mind. He liked knowing that Phil had allowed him in when he was falling apart, that Phil even now wasn’t hurrying to rebuild the walls that had come down in a moment of crisis. He liked feeling Phil’s body heat through thin, sleep-rumpled clothes, liked feeling the thump of Phil’s heart against his own chest.
Phil was letting him in, had been letting him in this whole time, piece by piece.
Clint breathed out, long and slow, and set the last lingering impulses to treat this like an infiltration mission aside.
“We’ve got this, Phil,” he said. “We’re going to be okay.”
Phil let out a little huff of breath, somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh. “Thanks,” he said, quiet enough that Clint could only hear it with his good ear. At some point, Clint probably ought to have a talk with Phil about the limitations of his implant, but that could wait.
They stood there a little while longer, just breathing, and Clint hoped that Phil was taking as much comfort out of the moment as he was. A distant clatter came from upstairs, and they both looked up, then exchanged rueful glances.
“I’ll check on them on my way to the shower,” Phil said, stepping out of the embrace.
“I’ll handle the kitchen.” Clint waved at the stacks of breakfast debris.
Phil nodded, gave Clint another of his sweet little smiles, and started up the stairs.
>>------><------<<
Phil’s door was shut when Clint finished the dishes and came upstairs. The girls were still in Katie’s room, acting out some kind of elaborate ceremony that seemed to involve Katie’s toy horses, a model of the America, Skye’s doll Jenny, Leo the stuffed sheep, and Doctor Princess Stephanie. Clint leaned in the doorway just watching them for a moment, comforting the shriek of nerves he hadn’t quite been able to kick all day with the sight of them there, safe and content and basically okay. Katie was still moving stiffly—Clint was too, to be perfectly honest; his arm still complained sharply if he moved it too fast or too much—and Skye was rubbing fretfully at her eyes. Clint remembered, then, that Skye usually had a nap at school, and hadn’t had one that day in all the lunch-breakfast-picnic excitement.
“This looks exciting,” he said, coming inside and crouching down next to them. They looked up at him, twin smiles on their faces, and his heart flipped in his chest with a vague, vast desire to make sure they never had cause to look at him with anything but welcome and joy.
“Doctor Princess Stephanie made an invention,” Skye told him solemnly, waving the model spaceship.
“She’s presenting her findings,” Katie added.
“Wow,” Clint said, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “You know, I bet your Uncle Tony would love to play that with you some time.”
“He does!” Skye said. “He makes the holograms.”
“One time he let us make a presentation in the big room at Daddy’s work in Starkville,” Katie added. “It was cool!”
“I’ll bet it was. I wish I could’ve seen it.”
“I think Daddy has a vid,” Katie said.
“I’ll have to ask him to show it to me.” Clint was completely sincere about that; it sounded adorable. “Is Doctor Princess Stephanie about done with her presentation?”
Skye nodded. “We were in question time.”
“Cool. Well, good job everyone! Let’s pick up the toys, and then I think it’s time for everyone to take a little rest, okay?” He caught Katie’s eye and nodded at Skye, who was visibly drooping. Katie looked over and nodded back.
“Yeah, Skye, I’m pretty tired too,” she said, picking up his signals like an absolute champ. Clint couldn’t wait for Natasha to meet her.
“Okay,” Skye agreed. They got the toys picked up, and then Clint took Skye into her room and set her down on top of her made bed, pulling a light blanket over her. “You just lay down and rest for me a little, okay, sunshine?”
She nodded, eyes already closing, and he leaned down and kissed her soft cheek. “Good job.”
She made a kiss noise in his direction, already mostly asleep, and he left the room quietly, setting the nap program on her door on his way out.
When he turned around, he saw Phil coming out of his room, cleaned up and wearing casual clothes.
“Skye go down for her nap okay?”
“Yeah, she was out almost as soon as I put her down,” Clint said. “Big day for her, I guess.”
Phil nodded. “Peggy called while you were downstairs. She and Steve and Darcy are coming by later. Steve wants to bring us dinner, and I think everyone wants to check in on you and Katie.”
Clint figured everyone wanted to check in on Phil, too, but he didn’t bring it up. “Sounds good,” he said. “I think my food-related creativity is about exhausted for the day.” He stretched, wincing when he forgot himself and moved his injured arm too far.
Phil’s gaze sharpened when he saw it. “How’s your arm doing?”
“Eh, it’s pretty damn sore, but better than last night, and it isn’t getting worse,” Clint said. “Doc said not to unwrap it until tomorrow, so I haven’t looked at it, but it feels like it’ll be okay.”
“We’ll take you in to see Bruce for a follow-up when the girls are back in school,” Phil said. “Those wounds are nothing to take lightly.”
Clint nodded. “We need to have a talk about those wolves, but not today. Plus, judging from the job offers in my inbox this morning, I may find myself getting an official briefing pretty soon.”
Phil looked interested. “I’m not suprised you’re getting recruited already. Anything interesting?”
“A fair few, actually,” Clint said. “I’d like to go over them with you, get your perspective, but I don’t think I’m up to it right now. Maybe in a day or so?”
“I’d be happy to help.”
“Help with what?” Katie asked, coming out of her room. “Clint, the toys are all put away, but I don’t have to take a nap, right? That was just for Skye.”
“Your dad is gonna help me look at job offers and see which ones I might want to think about taking,” Clint told her.
“You don’t have to take a nap,” Phil added. “But I do think it’s a good idea to have some quiet time.”
She looked back and forth between Clint and Phil. “Could we all three do something maybe? I mean, not if you’re too busy but. Maybe we could read a chapter, or watch a vid?”
“I think I can manage something,” Phil said. “Clint, are you free?”
“Please?” Katie added, looking up at him with big pleading eyes. Clint suspected she was exaggerating, but that didn’t make it any less effective.
“Sure,” he said. “I could use some quiet time myself.”
They ended up on the couch in the living room, Katie tucked up between them as they watched a vid about bees. After an hour, Phil went to get Skye up, and came down with her clinging to him, heavy-eyed and fretful. He put on another vid, this one about how woolen cloth was made, and sat back down with Skye in his lap. Her post-nap crankiness was soothed by the sight of the “sheeps, like Leo’s!” and Katie was for once content to let it pass without arguing for horse superiority.
Clint looked at them, clustered together on the couch, and wished he had a picture to send to Natasha; they looked almost ridiculously domestic, like a family in an advertisement, at least if you overlooked Clint and Katie’s bandages. It satisfied a deep-rooted part of himself, to have them all together, close and safe. He let himself daydream a little, mentally picturing Natasha curled on the chaise in the corner with a book, Lucky sleeping on a fat cushion in the corner, clean and well-fed. If things had gone differently, maybe he could have even had Barney here, sitting on the porch carving little toys for the girls with his clever, work-roughened hands.
The door chime shook him out of his thoughts, and then the house system announced, “Steve Rogers. Peggy Carter. Darcy Lewis.” As the one who didn’t have a child on top of him, Clint got up to greet their guests, leaving Phil to stop the vid and wrangle the girls.
Darcy was on the front stoop, standing just in front of Peggy, who had a messenger bag slung over one shoulder and a casserole dish in her hands, and Steve, who was carrying an unrealistic-looking number of dishes and shopping bags.
“Clint!” Darcy said, and started forward as if to hug him then stopped herself, her eyes darting over to his arm. “I’m so glad to see you,” she said. She looked wilted and pale, quite unlike her normal cheerful self. “I—can I give you a hug?”
Clint held out his good arm and she came in from that side, squeezing carefully and taking a long, shaky breath. “God,” she said. “I’m sorry, it just—it’s really good to see you.”
“Hey, I’m all right,” he said, giving her shoulders a little squeeze. He knew she was more a big sister or cool aunt to the girls than a nanny; she must be nearly as upset over everything as he and Phil were. “We’re all going to be fine. Phil and the girls are in the living room, why don’t you go say hi? I bet you’ll feel better once you get a chance to see Katie. I’ll help get the food squared away.”
She sniffed, and nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Thanks, Clint.”
He looked over at Steve and Peggy. “Can I help you with some of that?”
“I’m afraid if I try to hand one thing off I’m gonna drop it all,” Steve said. “I won’t say no to some help unloading it, though.”
“Say no more.” He followed them into the kitchen; for once, he was too exhausted from everything that had been happening to be nervous around them.
Small mercies.
He helped them unload the food. They’d brought the makings for sandwiches, which of course meant the kind of spread Clint had barely seen before he came to Stark’s World: crusty, fresh-baked bread, vegetables fresh from stasis if not someone’s garden, thick-cut slabs of real meat.
“Thanks for doing this,” he said, getting out the breadknife and a cutting board and handing them to Steve, who took them with a smile and started slicing one of the loaves.
“We’re happy to help,” Steve said.
“We should be thanking you for letting us visit,” Peggy added, laying vegetables out on a platter. “I know you mustn’t feel up to much in the way of company.”
Clint really, really didn’t; he could feel the long day and sleepless night catching up with him, along with a feeling that all the emotion he’d been stuffing down to deal with later wasn’t going to let him keep ignoring it indefinitely. But this wasn’t the entire town at their door; it was the three people who were probably closest to the Coulsons of anyone, and Clint couldn’t begrudge them a chance to reassure themselves that everyone would be all right.
“I don’t think honorary aunts and uncles really count as company,” he said, mustering up a smile. “I know they’re all glad to see you.”
“Uncle Steve! Aunt Peggy!” Skye came running in, barrelling into Peggy’s legs and grabbing her around the knees. “Hi!”
“Case in point,” Clint said. “Careful, sunshine, don’t trip Aunt Peggy while she’s carrying dishes, okay?”
Skye let go, taking a big step back and looking up with concern. “I’m sorry, Aunt Peggy, don’t trip!”
Peggy smiled down at her fondly. “I’ll be careful. Just let me set this down and then I’ll give you a hug,” she said, setting her two laden platters of sandwich fixings on the stasis table then bending down to scoop Skye up into her arms. “Hello, my darling,” she said, kissing Skye’s nose and making her giggle. “I’ve heard you’ve had an exciting day.”
“I stayed home from school!” Skye informed her gleefully, and launched into an excited account of the highlights of her unexpected holiday.
Clint moved to get dishes out for dinner while Skye was babbling about pancakes shaped like stars, then went to look into the living room to see how Phil and Katie were doing with Darcy. They were sitting together on the couch, Katie in between them, huddling into Darcy’s side while Phil looked on protectively. Darcy was saying something—Clint couldn’t make out what—and rubbing Katie’s back, starting at the top of her head and skating down her spine.
It made him think of the way that Natasha used to comfort him, when he was young and scared and lonely, on the nights when he couldn’t stay busy enough to forget how much he missed his brother, even after everything that had happened. She’d been the only bright thing in his world, those nights.
A bolt of homesickness hit him like a kick to the chest. Not for Earth—Earth was a shithole, and he was glad to be shut of it—but for the best things he’d left; for his cozy little cubby in Natasha’s room, for sneaking down to the Ground and moving like a wraith through the Haze, for sneaking scraps of food for Lucky and then just sitting with him, playing with his ears and stroking his ragged fur. For the way it felt to know his place and his world, what he was capable of. For only having one person in his life who he cared about pleasing or worried about keeping safe.
For Natasha.
He’d had nothing, had no-one, and then he’d had her. She’d become his world, teacher and family and partner and friend all in one. He would have stayed with her forever and counted himself luckier than he had any right to expect.
But Natasha had always wanted him to have more. The older Clint got, the more his skills grew, the warier she had grown about letting him have contact with the Red Room; for all that they’d lived in the heart of their headquarters, she’d done everything she could to keep him away from her employers.
“There are no good people in the Red Room,” she’d told him, her hand tight on his arm, so tight, her green eyes burning. “They take good people and they hollow them out and they fill the space with poison.”
“How can you say that?” he’d demanded. “You saved me—you’re a good person, Nat!”
“Maybe I could have been, once,” she’d said. “Now? There’s too much red in my ledger, Clint. But not yours. Not yet. And I intend for it to stay that way.”
And then Barney had gotten himself mixed up with the Bratva, and Clint had needed an escape, and she’d told him to go. To leave her.
And he had done it, the way he’d always done what she told him to do, for nearly ten years. And she’d been right, the way she always was; it was better here, it was good here, and Clint had things he’d never even considered dreaming of: not just the material luxuries but the beauty of the world, the community, the safety. Fruit and flowers and bees and the general store.
Katie, and Skye, and Phil. Love, and a future, and a home. Ways to be useful, to support himself and to use his skills without hurting anyone. A better life than he deserved. A near-perfect life, if he could have Natasha there to share it.
And if they could contain the wolves.
It was too much, suddenly, like the moment when you fall off the outside of a building, before you learn if your tether will hold; Clint could feel himself starting to shake, his throat going tight, everything he’d been pushing down to handle later fighting its way free. He needed—he couldn’t break down in front of the girls, he couldn’t put this on Phil, he couldn’t fall apart in front of Captain Rogers and Britannia—
“Clint?” Capt—Steve’s voice was deep, but pitched quiet: quiet enough that Clint could barely hear it in his bad ear. “Everything okay?”
“Fine.” Clint didn’t look at him, somehow squeezing an almost-normal voice out around the lump in his throat. “I just, ah, I remembered something I need to do. Outside. You guys go ahead and eat without me, I’ll get something later.” He squeezed past without looking up, going straight for the back door, instincts kicking in to lighten his steps and muffle his sounds. He went out through the porch and straight back to the barn. He needed somewhere to go, somewhere enclosed, safe, empty; it was the barn or Katie’s treehouse, and Clint thought he might need to take a page from Phil’s book before it was over and hit something, just to drive the sour adrenaline out of his body.
Everything was the way they had left it, early that morning. Phil’s exercise equipment was still out, his clothes and shoes and the duffel bag scattered on the floor; Clint hadn’t even registered, that morning, that Phil had walked back to the house barefoot. He looked at the treadmill, at the punching bag, but no; he didn’t need that, not now. He needed…
The wood floor where he and Phil had sat was warm, a patch of evening sun slanting through one of the windows and painting it gold. The air outside was clear, dazzling and crisp like champagne—the one time he’d tasted it, acting as Natasha’s bodyguard-slash-food-tester on a mission. Clint could see the apple trees, their swollen buds ready to burst into blossom any day now. Phil had been going to show him how to check on the beehives that weekend.
The branches blurred against the sky, Clint’s eyes stinging as he felt the first tears streak hot down his face. He hugged his knees to his chest and put his face down, making himself small, and finally stopped fighting and let himself fall.
It was so much—there was so much. Katie and the wolf, Stark and the Frosts, Phil’s face as he’d looked at Audrey and their babies. What Clint knew had happened, days or maybe only hours afterward. How much Clint hurt for him and how a twisted, guilty part of him was jealous that Audrey had made him that happy, that the girls—Clint’s girls, in his deepest heart—had been hers first, no question. The dizzying uncertainty of Clint’s future. And over it all, the way that Katie had screamed, the soundtrack of a nightmare that Clint wasn’t sure would ever leave him.
When he had wept himself out, he raised his head slowly, feeling empty and dizzy. The barn was dim now, long with shadows, and he noticed with a jolt that he wasn’t alone.
“Hey, hey, easy,” someone said, leaning forward, and as Clint scrubbed the last of the tears out of his eyes the person sitting in front of him on the floor resolved into Cap—into Steve, which was so unexpected Clint couldn’t decide how to react, so he just sat there, blinking.
“Sorry if I startled you,” Steve said, sounding sheepish. “I, ah, I didn’t know what—” he made a vague gesture that seemed to encompass all of Clint’s… mess. “Phil wanted to come out here after you,” he said. “Me and Peg got him to let me go instead. Thought maybe it might help, having someone around a little less… invested in everything. I didn’t realize—well, I knew something was wrong, but. I didn’t want to intrude, but I didn’t want to leave you alone.”
“Why do you care?” Clint blurted, then pressed his fist to his mouth in dismay. “I mean—I didn’t mean—you don’t even know me,” he said.
“Not as well as I’d like to.” Steve smiled at him, small but real. “You strike me as a good man to get to know.” He spoke easily, like he wasn’t a galactic hero and Clint wasn’t no-name Ground trash. Like there was any way in which it made sense that they’d even talk to each other, let alone become—friends? Was that what this was about? Or some kind of, of duty, because Phil was Steve’s friend and Clint was—as far as Steve knew—Phil’s fiancé?
“I’m—” I’m nothing special. I’m not worth this. I’m not going to hurt Phil or the girls, not any of them, not if I have anything to say about it, I promise. “I’m fine.” Clint swallowed hard, trying to get his voice under control despite the way his throat ached. “I’m sorry for, for causing trouble.”
Steve made a little sound—like he’d started to say something and cut himself off. He took a long breath—Clint wondered, suddenly and randomly, what Doc Banner would say about Steve’s lung capacity—and blew it out, then scooted forward on the floor enough that he was sitting in the last of the sunset light coming through the window. It painted his hair the color of copper, and his face—the face Clint had spent his childhood staring at in picture books—was open and kind.
“Nobody thinks you’re causing trouble, Clint,” he said, and he sounded so sure, unshakeable. Like it had never even been in doubt. “The opposite. We all —well, I’d say we owe you a debt, but I figure you might not see it that way.”
Clint shook his head. He hadn’t saved Katie for anyone other than Katie; Katie, and himself, in that horrible moment when her scream had frozen the blood in his veins. There hadn't been room for anything else.
Steve nodded. “But all the same, we are thankful,” he said. “And not just for your abilities with a bow and arrow, though they’re impressive. We—by which I mean, me and Peg, Darcy and Sam, the people who care about the Coulsons—we’re thankful for how much you care about them, too. How happy they’ve been, since you got here.”
Clint found himself shaking his head, words lodging in his chest in a lump. Steve didn’t know, he didn’t know, he thought Clint was something different than he was. Something better.
“Phil told me you lived in Washington-York,” Steve said, shifting his weight like he was settling in for a chat. “Did you know that I grew up there, too?”
The change of subject brought him up short. “I—yeah?” he said. “I mean, we learned that. In school. Sorry,” he added, because he knew Steve wasn’t the biggest fan of the whole superhero thing that they’d done with his story after his ship disappeared.
Steve chuckled a little, rueful. “Nah, it’s okay,” he said. “I forget, you know. Living here—they all try to let us live like normal people. It’s nice.” He shrugged. “So, yeah. I grew up in Brooklyn.”
“Terra Firma territory,” Clint said. “Or, I mean, it is now.”
“It was then, too,” Steve said, making a face.
Clint nodded. “I hate those assholes. Plus, I mean. Earth first? Earth dead last, more like. Have they looked around?”
“Hah!” Steve laughed out loud, an ungraceful almost-snort. “No kidding. Are you a Brooklyn boy too?”
“Moved around a good bit,” Clint said. “But I ended up settled in Bed-Stuy.”
“That still, what was it. Russians, right? Bratva or Krasnoj Komnate?”
“Wow, you really are a local boy,” Clint said, something in him going wistful at the accent that was slipping into Steve’s voice the more they talked about the city. “Red Room. Bratva are a little farther down, Brighton Beach and thereabouts.”
“Peggy grew up on Elysium,” Steve said. “She doesn’t really—I mean, she knows something about what it was like, she’s read the intel, plus I’ve told her things. But I don’t think she really understands. What it does to you, growing up somewhere like that, where everyone’s reduced to… to an asset. To what a syndicate can squeeze out of you. How even the people that love you can’t always protect you. The way that at the end of things, you’re always on your own.”
Clint caught his breath, self-consciousness forgotten. “But you’re—”
“The Captain of the America?” his voice took on a mocking twist. “Sure, now. But before Project Rebirth? Before the Enhancements? I was a skinny, sickly kid from the low twenties that even Terra Firma didn’t want.”
“Why—why are you telling me this?”
Steve leaned forward, his face intent. “So you understand where I’m coming from when I say that you don’t have to face this alone.” He gestured at the barn. “You don’t have to find a safe spot to lick your wounds, not here. You’re one of us, now.” He reached out, watching Clint’s face as though ready to snatch his hand back if Clint flinched, and rested his hand on Clint’s shoulder. “You’ve been taking care of Phil and the girls all day, haven’t you? Darcy said she got a message from you early. Did you even sleep?”
“Couldn’t,” Clint said, hoarsely. “I was… twitchy. Kept. Hearing her. The way she s-screamed. Least awake I could do something to help.”
“I know what it’s like,” Steve said, a pained set to his mouth. “When you can’t come down, when you can’t convince your body that you’re safe, that your people are safe, even if your brain knows.”
“Yeah.”
“I know that feeling.” Steve waved a hand back toward the house. “Phil knows it. Peggy, Sam. Tony, even. More people here than you’d think. You don’t settle out this far without a good reason.”
“Yeah,” Clint said. “I know.”
Steve looked at him, his eyes sharp. “I know there’s more to your story than Phil’s told me,” he said. “I think Peggy knows what it is, but I’d be no kinda husband if I couldn’t trust her to know what secrets need to be kept. But I’ve been where you came from, so I can think of a coupla things it could be, and I want you to know: they don’t matter anymore.”
“You can’t say that,” Clint said, eyes stinging. “You don’t even know what—” he stopped, conflicted; it wasn’t his secret alone, but Phil’s. He and Phil had an agreement, and Clint wouldn’t break it, no matter how much guilt twisted in his guts.
“Phil and Peggy wouldn’t let you endanger anyone here,” Steve said, his voice still so calm, so kind. “That means that whatever it is, whatever happened, you left it on Earth, and as far as I’m concerned, it can stay right there.” He squeezed Clint’s shoulder a little. He looked... he looked like the picture book, like a monument, like a hero. Like someone to follow and defend and trust. Clint suddenly understood, deep in his guts, why they'd chosen him for Rebirth, why they'd given him a ship and a crew and sent him out to war. Clint felt a little like he could go to war, himself, if Steve looked at him like that when he asked him to.
“You’re here now,” Steve said, his voice warm, resonant with certainty. “You’re one of us. You’ve earned that. And we always look after our own.”
Clint didn’t reply. He couldn’t reply; all he could do was sit there, staring dumbly at Steve. He… he didn’t have any frame of reference for this. It was like something he’d imagined as a child coming to life before his eyes: Captain Rogers comforting him, telling him that he was one of the Captain’s people, that the Captain would look after him.
He half wondered if he’d passed out or something, and this was all an especially vivid dream.
Steve watched Clint’s face for a while, then squeezed his shoulder again, shaking him a little bit. “C’mon, Clint,” Steve said. “Let’s go back to the house, get you some food and let you get some rest. You’ve gotta be dead on your feet.”
Clint obeyed, feeling numb and a little drifty; he was at the end of his reserves, and there were safe people to watch over Phil and the girls; he could… he could follow the Captain’s orders. Maybe now he’d be able to rest.
Steve slung one of his massive arms around Clint’s shoulders—the man was head and shoulders taller than Clint, solid and broad; it made Clint feel oddly young, like he was a child again and his brother was herding him through the streets. Clint felt a little like a scruffed kitten as Steve steered him back through the twilight, but was content enough to just let it happen.
The climbed the steps to the porch, the door closing behind them with the odd hiss-thwack of its hydraulic latch.
“Hey,” said Phil.
He was sitting on the porch swing in the shadows, a mug in either hand. “I made you some cider,” he said, looking up at Clint. “And a sandwich.”
“You see?” Steve murmured, giving him another affectionate little shake and a light push toward the swing, then turning toward the door. He slipped inside remarkably silently for such a large man.
Clint looked down at Phil. In the dusk, his face was indistinct, but when he held out one of the mugs Clint could see his eyes, big and shining with concern.
Clint took the mug and sat on the swing beside Phil, cupping the warm ceramic with fingers that he hadn’t realized had grown stiff with the evening chill.
“You didn’t have to come out here,” he said, looking down at his hands. “I’m fine.”
“I’m not,” Phil said, and Clint looked over at him sharply, worried, but he didn’t look like anything else had happened; he looked exhausted, mostly, though when he caught Clint’s eyes he offered him a wry little half-smile. “I’m still pretty fucked up about all this, and I’d be really surprised if you weren’t feeling the same.”
Clint didn’t know what to say to that; it was true, but. Surely Phil was the one who had the most right, here. Katie was his daughter, and Clint had only known her since February. He only felt like she was his own, it wasn’t really true. Not yet.
Phil nudged him, carefully, and held out a little plate that contained a sandwich, cut into quarters, and some of those carrot sticks he liked to feed the girls. “Try to eat something?” he asked. “I know you’re probably too tired to feel hungry, but it’ll help.”
Clint took the plate and set it down on his other side, balanced on the arm of the swing, and picked up a piece of the sandwich. He really didn’t have much appetite, but he knew Phil was right. He was about to crash hard, and it wouldn’t help if he let his blood sugar tank at the same time. Phil nodded in approval when Clint took a bite.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Phil said. “I appreciate the way you took care of us all. God, that doesn’t even—you were about all that kept me from completely losing it last night. Steady as a rock. That was—it’s been a really long time since I had someone I could rely on like that.” He cleared his throat, and Clint could see in the dim light that his knuckles were nearly white around the handle his mug. “It meant. It meant the world to me.”
Clint felt his ears heat; even as drained and weary as he was feeling, it was so good to hear that he’d helped, that he’d managed to give Phil what he needed.
“‘m glad,” he said, a little garbled between mechanical bites of sandwich. He took a sip of cider—hot and sweet with apples and honey—and tried again. “I’m glad it helped.”
Phil nudged Clint’s ankle with his toe—he was wearing soft slippers, Clint noticed—and didn’t move his foot back over, afterward, leaving it as a point of contact between them. “You were a lifesaver,” he said, then his face twisted in an expression Clint couldn’t quite read. “In more ways than one.”
Clint swallowed the last bite of sandwich and picked up a carrot. “I didn’t—I wasn’t thinking that way,” he admitted. “With… with the wolf. It was just… instincts. Messy. I wish she hadn’t seen it. Wish she hadn’t seen me do it. I hope… I hope it doesn’t scare her.”
“It might,” Phil said. “I wouldn’t have wanted her to see that, either. But it wasn’t like you had much choice. For that wolf to come so close to town—if it could have been driven away, it wouldn’t have been there in the first place. The only way to stop it was to kill it, and they’re hard to kill.” He shuddered, and Clint leaned against him, hoping the comfort of the contact would go both ways. He drained his mug and set it on the seat beside him, then clasped his hands together, worrying at his fingers.
“I,” he said, and had to stop and breathe. “Phil. I was so fucking scared.”
Saying it was like… like clearing out a jam in a pipe; he felt himself start to shake again, his breath speeding up as the ghost of that terror prickled along his nerves. “I heard her, I heard her and then I saw it going after her and I thought. I’d shot it nine times and it was still going. I thought—I didn’t think. Just had to make it stop. And if—if it got me. If I couldn’t. Then it would go for Katie again, it would—I had to take it down, I had to.” His heart was pounding, tears clogging his throat again. “Before I got the knife through. I thought. I was losing,” he whispered. “But I couldn’t lose.”
“Clint.” Phil’s voice was choked, too, soft and pained, but Phil didn’t pull away; he turned to face Clint on the swing, held his arms out again, and Clint didn’t even hesitate this time, just let his head fall onto Phil’s shoulder, let himself gasp and shake while Phil held him—clung to him—and Phil was shaking too, whispering things on the edge of Clint’s hearing; reassurances or confessions, Clint wasn’t sure which, and he wasn’t sure he was even meant to.
It took him less time to run down, this time; he didn’t have the energy left to sustain it. Still, though, when he opened his eyes again it was full night, that bright, eerie Stark’s World moonlight bathing the yard in silver-sharp shadows.
Phil was rubbing his back, he realized. Slow and soothing, like he did when one of the girls was upset. Gentle. Caring. Clint tightened his arms around Phil’s middle, taking a deep, shuddering breath while he processed how good it felt, how safe.
He still had the empty mug clenched in one hand, digging it into Phil’s back.
“Sorry,” he muttered, and Phil stopped moving, then started again, slower but not pulling away.
“Don’t be,” Phil said. Phil’s cheek was resting against Clint’s temple; Clint could feel the muscles in his jaw moving as he spoke, his breath stirring Clint’s hair. “You earned a bit of a breakdown, god knows you put up with mine long enough.”
They heard a burst of laughter from inside, and both jumped a little. It was almost like an alarm ringing, a notification: the world doesn’t stop because you need it to.
“I should. Help,” Clint said. “Baths. School stuff.” The girls needed to go back to school the next day; they needed lunches packed and baths done and clothes laid out and backpacks reset. It made him droop just thinking about it.
“You’ve helped plenty already today,” Phil said. “Why don’t you go up and get some rest? You let me sleep most of the day; I can take the rest of tonight. Plus, Darcy probably did half of it already.”
Clint wanted to; now that Phil had brought it up, he wanted his bed with an almost painful intensity. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.” Phil hesitated, then turned his head a little and pressed his cheek harder into Clint’s hair. Clint wondered if Phil had been about to kiss his head just then, the way he did with the girls. He wouldn’t have minded, though parental kisses wasn’t really what he was hoping Phil would give him, some day. He gave Phil another little squeeze, trying not to dig into his kidney with the mug, and sat up, trying not to sigh when Phil’s arms fell away, leaving bands of cold on his back where they had been.
“Okay,” he said. “Lemme kiss the girls goodnight and I’ll go crash.”
“Don’t worry with an alarm,” Phil told him. “I’ll take care of tomorrow morning. I’m going in to work late.”
“Thanks.” He sat for a moment, reluctant to leave the quiet, shadowed intimacy of the porch and Phil’s company, then forced himself to gather up his dishes and get going.
The lights of the house seemed near-blinding after so long sitting in the dark; he shoved his dishes into the sink and navigated into the living room through squinted eyes. Phil moved behind him, not saying anything, but somehow managing to give the impression that he was there to catch Clint if he were to just topple over, which honestly was not as unlikely a scenario as one might wish.
They followed the sound of voices into the living room, where Phil made his excuses and the girls came over to give him hugs and goodnight kisses, and then he trudged up the stairs to his room. He paused in the doorway; Phil was hovering nearby, looking like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite spit it out.
“Page me if you need anything,” he said at last. “I mean it.”
Clint opened his mouth, ready to tell Phil that he wouldn’t need to bother him, but stopped when he really took in Phil’s expression, nervous and concerned and unguarded.
This wasn’t a mission, anymore. Or maybe it was, just a different kind of mission than Clint had thought. What was a spouse, anyway, if not a long-term mission partner? And partners looked out for each other.
“I promise,” Clint said.