Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel, but all OC's are mine. I also don't own the lolita brand from which I took the name of the story from.
A/N: There is extensive discussion of child abuse, post-traumatic stress disorder, and grieving; please, if any of these trigger you, I urge that you do not read this story. However, if you love Clint with small children, and learning to be a dad, this is a good fic to start with! :3
Baby, The Stars Shine Bright
The song of a drawn bowstring was enough, really. He released a breath, eyes fluttering for just a moment as he took aim, gray-blue eyes locking on the target almost a football field away. There was peace in that one movement, the power of his own flesh and blood drawing that lone string back, arrow nocked and balanced, perfectly pinched between thumb and forefingers, a grace of a fallen god...
"Barton." His grip never faltered, but Clint's lips twitched up, smirking as he glanced over at a solemn Coulson...far more solemn than normal. He relaxed the string and stood straight up, setting his bow in its case as he did so, the arrow returning to the quiver.
"What's wrong?" Coulson sighed, rubbing his cheek absently as he did so, handing over a slim file.
"Something that I'd hoped would never come to light...especially for you, Clint." His eyes narrowed, and the archer scooped up the file, eyes flickering over the neat report, slowly widening as his jaw dropped. The obituary was clear, concise, and upsettingly vague as to the causes of death...and there was the trooper's report of the crash, the utter destruction by semi-truck...He swallowed, painfully, and turned to the last page, and was confronted by a pair of soft blue eyes and long, brown-blonde hair...a little girl, but not just any little girl. The little girl he'd been sent pictures of for the last five years, from the time she was in utero to her last birthday, by the woman he'd accepted a long time ago that was far too good for him, but had loved him nonetheless.
"It...it can't be..."
"It is."
"...The funeral?"
"Two days from now. Her lawyer was kind enough to extend an invitation to us both, but I think you ought to be the one to go."
"...and her daughter?" Phil's eyes dropped to the floor, and Clint waited, a hair's breadth away from panicking.
"...She'll be remanded to her grandparents' custody until such time as another relative accepts her guardianship. Or, her biological father chooses to exert his rights." He swallowed again, staggering back to fall into one of the chairs, quiver clanking on the metal frame.
"Phil, you know I can't do that. You know why."
"...Take a look at this, and tell me that again." He handed over another file, this one so much thicker, and for a long moment, Clint did not open it. It was a child services file...one that did not bode well. With a huff of a sigh, he opened it...and felt his heart plummet. Broken arm at the age of one, bruises over her abdomen from a visit at two, cigarette burns at three...and a fall that was not an accident at four. From then on, she was kept from her grandparents, safe...until now.
"Abuse records."
"Yes. From her grandfather...but the worst ones are from the grandmother. Her mother kept her away from them until her death; right now, she's staying with the lawyer and his wife, but after the funeral, her guardians become them..."
"Why? Why are they allowed, after what they've done?!"
"...because those are not state records." Clint took a second look, eyes snapping to the simple logo...and he took a shaky breath.
"These are SHIELD."
"Precisely. Ever since her birth, we've been watching...for her sake, and yours."
"...Did Nina know?" Phil gave him a faint smile at that.
"You know she did. But she always called me when this happened, not the police; the police asked questions, I just did paperwork."
"...you kept us all safe."
"It was the least I could do...but it wasn't enough, Clint. And now...I can't keep her safe...only you can. You know that." He rubbed his face, glancing over the photos of her abuses...and sighed, worn to the bone.
"Alright. Alright. Rochester, still?"
"Mmhmm, the old farm she bought after her stint in the circus. She always loved you, you know." Clint nodded, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes closing. She came up in his memory from nearly six years before, red hair down to her knees from years in an Amish home, eyes the softest shade of blue...and a sweet smile that had earned her a solid place in the circus...and in a young Bullseye's heart. She loved the showmanship, the horses she rode night after night...the bright lights and beautiful costumes and all the world at her feet. And him...she had certainly loved him.
After all, she'd born his little girl.
"...Yeah. And I still loved her. I just...didn't want her to be hurt. To be used..."
"And she loved you all the more for it."
"I'll leave tonight."
"That would be wise. I'll inform the Avengers, and deal with the paperwork." Clint nodded, finally standing up...and held out a hand to shake Coulson's.
"Thank you...I...probably ought to get an apartment..."
"Just move her into the Tower. It'll be safer, and let's be honest, a child would help most of them."
"...This will end so badly."
The drive to Rochester was a good three hours of silence, his usual preference of old rock shadowed by the events of the day, and Clint rubbed his stubble, wondering if the suit he had so neatly laid out in the back was going to be good enough for a funeral of a prominent horse trainer and her celebrated, businessman husband...for the little girl in the pretty red Christmas dress in the worn album in his bedroom's drawer. My daughter...my little girl...My Emma. He watched her life like any good sniper could; from afar, from photos, from letters, long and beautifully written, and so much better than his pigeon-scratching. Clint caressed the edge of a photo, tucked into the edge of the dashboard, from the last letter he'd received from Nina, just two weeks before her passing.
It was her and Emma, both in pretty spring dresses and sunhats, grinning up at the photographer, and he wished, not for the first time, that he'd been there...that Clint Barton, archer, wasn't the same as Clint Barton, the sniper. Wished that he'd been able to see his child's smile every morning, and kiss her cheek every night. But someone had to take the shots that mattered, and if Clint was honest with himself...he couldn't leave it to anyone else. And Nina Sloane had been the one to remind him of that, so long ago, just before the army years...And why he'd gone to SHIELD. Why Phil had ensured her's, and their daughter's safety...and why he was driving up to Nina's home now, a slim suitcase and a suit all he packed, a trailer waiting for him up at the rental place to pack the child's things on when he returned.
And thinking about moving her into his apartment turned to the other Avengers...and how they'd react. Phil was, obviously, all for it; he smiled a little at the thought of the agent almost excited for a child to take care of. Steve would be welcoming, and probably make her feel right at home; he loved kids, loved playing with them, loved taking care of them. Thor, too, would cherish her, making sure that she'd be happy. Bruce probably wouldn't come out at first, until she fell playing and scuffed up a knee, and then he'd be there, lollipop and bandages out, and the warmest bedside manner in the world. Tony wouldn't be all that interested at first, but toys would start appearing, and she would have the coolest bike and be spoiled absolutely rotten...And then there was Natasha. He winced, just a little, and pushed her reaction out of his mind, focusing on driving.
Three hours of nothingness and a stop at a local gas station later, and he pulled into the funeral home's parking lot, finally getting a spot over on the grass next to the building. He stepped out and brushed back his spiky hair, straightening his suit jacket as he started towards the parlor, ignoring the curious looks from the other mourners...when a flash of soft blue in the corner of his eye made Clint turn, glancing out over the cemetery. A tiny little girl, clutching a well-worn bunny rabbit in her arms, was staring at the green pavilion where Nina and Jason were to be laid to rest, and Clint's heart sank, his eyes catching every detail of her almost unconsciously. Emma was smaller than most five-year-olds, her dress just a little too big, but her mary-janes were worn and scuffed, and a little too small. Her hair was plaited, but greasy, and there were snags in the tights she was wearing...and as she turned, head bowed to the winds gusting around the whole complex, he saw the deep shadows under her eyes.
Lost weight, growth spurt, clothing that wasn't hers, hadn't had a decent bath in at least three days, dressing herself, not sleeping...He swallowed, watching as a tall man with light brown hair and soft eyes walked up to her, talking gently. She took his hand and as they walked back up to the parlor, Clint followed, his hand slipping into his pocket to tap out a message to Coulson before flipping his phone to silent. Probably gonna need a child therapist, set one up for me? He wouldn't have to look at the response to know that Phil would do so; the man had a soft spot for kids, if his spoiling of his nephews and nieces was anything to go by. And she would need that...He slipped in the door, murmuring a soft condolence to the clustered family ignoring his daughter, and set his sights on following her once more, slipping through the crowd like a ghost. He wrote an alias down in the guestbook and took a seat at the back, right behind the lawyer and his wife, and opened his pamphlet, scanning it for any real information that hadn't been in the SHIELD file.
Nothing new, though he disliked the absence of his daughter's name in the family listing, and settled back, sighing heavily. Oh Nina...Gonna miss you, babe. I know we weren't much, but...damn.
"Did you know Mama too?" Emma's voice was soft, frightened, and Clint started, blinking down at the little girl now sitting next to him. He hadn't even realized she was there...
"...Yeah, I knew your Mama. She was a good friend of mine." She played with her bunny, and Clint's eyes softened. "She told me a lot about you, you know." She looked up at him then, and he had to close his eyes for a moment. She looked the image of her mother, even more so now, and he tentatively rested a hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring smile. "This has gotta be hard, sweetheart..."
"I miss Mama..." The sob was soft, half-buried in her bunny, and Clint took out a hankerchief, mopping up her cheeks as he hugged her close.
"Oh baby...I miss her too. I miss her too..."
"...As you can see, Mister Barton, her grandparents do have first say as to her guardianship..."
"I was reassured that my daughter would be allowed to choose."
"And yet, you haven't even introduced yourself to her, and with all due respect, you have not been a part of her life since her conception." Clint grit his teeth, just a little, and clenched one fist over the arm of the chair. Self-righteous prick, just because I've been on active fucking duty to keep your bitchy ass safe...But he kept the retorts behind closed lips and simply smiled faintly.
"Perhaps, but I have been serving the military as an agent for the last several years. Nina knew that, she's been in contact with my commanding officer since my last departure, and we've shared letters, photos, ever since. So, Emma has the right to choose who she goes home with. And I'd like to speak with her, thank you. She means a lot more to me than she does to anyone else here." The man winced at that, something Clint took as a personal score, and sat forward, hands clasped.
"...Perhaps you are right. She's in her room upstairs." Clint took that as his dismissal and slipped out of the office, padding through the elegant brownstone to the upstairs, to a tiny bedroom about half the size of the other children's rooms. The door wasn't locked, but Clint eased it open rather than barging in, glancing at the tiny girl clutching her bunny. She wasn't playing with any toys, not that she had much; her bunny and a small pile of dolls, her blanket and sheets simple, department store grays, one lone photo of her mother and father on the small white dresser. He swallowed, and rested his head on the door itself. This was sparser than his SHIELD barrack. Where were the toys and furniture Jason had made her? Where were the photos and the pictures? Where were the cute overalls and dresses, and all the pretty things that she had...
"Emma?" Her head came up a little, blue eyes shadowed, and Clint came inside, closing the door. "Hey..."
"Hello." Even her voice was hollowed, lost, and he sat down on the floor before her, hiding the wince. She met his eyes for a moment, a faint spark of defiance lost in the grief.
"Emma, um...Do you know who I am?" Her eyes came up again, quiet, appraising.
"You're my papa." He had to smile at that, and he reached out to touch her bunny's nose.
"I am. I...sent you that, on the day you were born. Your mama sent me pictures, letters..."
"She told me about you. About how you protected us from really bad guys...really, really bad guys. Like the aliens in New York." He grinned, nodding, and bopped her nose now. She giggled, faint, but there.
"She was always right, sweetheart." He touched her cheek now, solemn. "I wanted to introduce myself at last, and...I wanted to give you a choice. The law will let me take you back to New York...or, you can stay with your grandparents. Normally, there isn't much of a choice, but...I insisted that you be given one." She blinked, hugging the bunny tighter, looking nervous now, and he hastened to reassure her. "If you want to stay, honey, that's..."
"I wanna go with you." It was his turn to look surprised, and she slid off the bed, right into his lap, hugging him tightly. "They hurt me..." He closed his eyes, hugging her back, and sighed.
"I heard that...I won't hurt you, sweetheart. Not ever."
"I know...Mama always said to trust papa...always." Clint had to smile at that, and he kissed her forehead, snuggling her close.
"She definitely knew best...Where are your things, babe?" She snuggled closer, and sniffled.
"Grandmother sold them already..." He sighed.
"Of course she did. Alright, in that case, we're gonna go shopping when we get home. With Captain America. And Thor." Two little hands pushed away from his chest, and her eyes were wide.
"You know Captain America?!" He grinned.
"I fight alongside him. And yes, he's just as much a nice guy as he is on the news. I fight with him, the Hulk, Thor, Iron Man, and the Black Widow. We all live in Iron Man's Tower." Her eyes managed to go wider, and he kissed her cheek, rocking her. "Emma...are you sure you want to go with me?" Her firm nod made him grin, but the lip wibble made that swift smile disappear.
"...Just...can I take Mama's photos? Mr. Emmett has them downstairs..."
"Absolutely. I'm entitled to certain things anyway; Mr. Emmett can be a nice guy for a change." He got up with a little difficulty, still holding her, and eased her onto one hip. "Alright...ready to blow this popsicle stand?" She giggled softly, and he kissed her again, bouncing her a little.
"Ready, Papa!"
DaddyClint fic. There needs to be more of them. Because our beloved, adorable archer would make such a good papa.