Disclaimer: I don't own the Marvel Cinematic Universe or Marvel comics or any of their characters.
This is a sequel to 'there's a different way of life, i can show you'. It will be three chapters, one each in Natasha, Clint and Darcy's POVs.
Natasha
By the time Natasha had been with SHIELD for one year, she thought she had an excellent handle on who Clint Barton was.
Missions and close quarters were very educational, after all. And you couldn't spend a year's worth of missions, often in cramped quarters for weeks at a time, without becoming incredibly close or starting to hate each other.
And Natasha did not hate Clint.
Clint owned an apartment building with an odd collection of tenants – including a little old lady who Natasha knew used to be one of the CIA's best agents, but who now spent most of her time baking cakes for her neighbours and pressing plates of pryaniki on Natasha every time she visited.
He could sleep almost silently on missions, but when he was off the clock his snoring was like a foghorn. And if he hadn't had any coffee, there was about a sixty-five percent chance he would trip on his way to the bathroom in the morning.
He couldn't pass a dog without wanting to pet it, even in the middle of a mission … even when being shot at by a pair of mobsters.
(how he'd stayed alive so long was sometimes a genuine mystery to Natasha).
And for someone whose aim was so true, and who was extremely skilled as a spy and assassin, when he was off the clock, Clint could barely get through one day without acquiring a new collection of bumps and bruises, or entangling himself in some minor disaster.
In the Red Room, she was fairly sure he would never have been tolerated, despite his skills. But Natasha, freer than she had ever been before (despite the close watch SHIELD attempted to keep on her), found his behaviour strangely endearing.
That didn't stop her from flipping him every time he tried to surprise her … because only Clint would think it was a good idea to drop out of the vents onto an ex-Red Room assassin, and then simply smile through his bloody nose when she hit him.
"I'll catch you off guard one day," he promised with a good-natured but determined grin that made her think he might actually manage it.
There was something about Clint. He was the most down-to-earth person she had never known, somehow managing to live a relatively normal life when he wasn't on missions, and yet when he was working he more than earned his title of world's greatest marksman.
Neither of them were ever really off-duty, but Clint separated his work and personal life in a way few in their position managed. Natasha was a little envious of him, sometimes. She didn't think she'd ever manage to be like that.
A year had not made Natasha any less suspicious of SHIELD.
She rather admired Director Fury, but she certainly didn't trust him. She truly liked Phil Coulson, but she never forgot that his loyalty was first and foremost to SHIELD.
But Clint Barton was … different, somehow.
He wasn't one for protocol. He didn't always make the choice he was ordered to (Natasha was living proof of that).
He wasn't scared of her.
Oh, she was sure he was still wary at times, but he hid it far better than anyone else. And he never showed fear around her – he laughed when she beat him bloody in training, he made her watch Dog Cops with him when he thought she was lingering too much on her past, and he listened to details of her time in the Red Room without ever looking at her as if he was disgusted or fearful.
Clint was the first person who truly seemed to accept who she was, and what she had done, and like her anyway.
And yet, despite what he had done for her, and what he meant to her, she couldn't help but pry into his life in ways she was fairly sure she had no earned.
Information gathering, searching for weak spots. It was what she was trained for, what she had spent years doing.
It was second nature, whether she was faced with ally or enemy, friend or foe.
Even Clint, who in a short time had become so important to her, was not immune.
She found out his secrets eventually – embarrassing, irrelevant and interesting.
Every secret but one.
She didn't know what it was, only that it existed.
Clint was skilled at concealing his secrets in general, but this one …
This one was tricky.
All she knew was that he disappeared, every few weeks, for a couple of days.
He was off the grid then, not even answering Natasha's texts.
She thought Coulson knew, and probably Fury too. They wouldn't talk, though, and she wasn't about to attempt anything drastic with them. That was far too obvious a move for her to try.
In the end she settled on the mundane idea of simply following Clint on one of his trips.
… or at least she tried to follow him.
It turned out that Clint was extremely good at losing a tail.
Natasha was fairly sure that he didn't know it was her that had been following him during the last few trips he made, but he was aware someone was and had taken appropriate measures to ensure he always escaped them.
Part of her was ridiculously happy at the idea that Clint could avoid her tracking him. The other part was just irritated.
Intel was important, but Natasha also admitted she was a bit of a busybody at times and she really just wanted to know things.
Still, she persevered. Natasha had survived the Red Room. Finding out where Clint spent a large portion of his down-time would be child's play.
Four months later
Natasha was hiding in a tree.
She'd ditched her car far enough away that it couldn't be seen, cursing the fact that the place Clint had apparently been visiting was a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere.
But even having to walk a few miles in the blazing sun, tracking the route Clint's truck had taken, couldn't dampen her mood.
It had taken months, but she had finally succeeded in following Clint to his destination.
If only she could work out exactly why he was at a farmhouse in Missouri.
Which brought her to the tree she had chosen as her perch as she tried to see exactly who or what was inside the farmhouse.
There had been movement inside, but while Natasha had been enhanced by the Red Room's version of Captain America's serum, even she couldn't make out more than quick glimpses and blurry figures.
So she waited. She could be patient.
She was rewarded an hour later, when the farmhouse door opened and two figures came outside.
One was Clint. The other was a girl, maybe fourteen or fifteen years old.
"There's not much point in this, uncle Clint," the girl sighed, "I've tried practicing and I'm really not a very good shot – I nearly killed three different squirrels two days ago in the space of twenty minutes."
Clint laughed, "practice makes perfect, Darcy."
"Or dead squirrels," the girl muttered, though she took the bow Clint offered her.
Natasha watched them closely. So this was Clint's secret, a family hidden off the grid. She couldn't blame him for wanting them away from SHIELD's radar – Clint, under his codename Hawkeye, was well-known around the world and a teenage niece could be a potentially easy target for any enemy looking for leverage.
She recalled a small note in Clint's file which mentioned his brother Barney, who had worked undercover for the FBI until he had, for reasons not listed, defected to various other organisations of a more villainous sort. He was currently presumed dead, which in Natasha's experience meant he was probably lying low for the moment.
Barney was, as far as she knew, Clint's only sibling, and therefore the likely father of Darcy. Another reason for keeping her away from anyone who could identify her.
Barney Barton seemed like bad news. His associates were probably worse.
Natasha spent two hours watching as Clint and Darcy practiced their archery.
Clint hit the bullseye every time, as expected. His niece, on the other hand, was as bad as she had professed to be. No squirrels were harmed, thankfully, but that was probably simply because they clearly avoided the area.
When, at last, Darcy hit the edge of the target, she whooped as if she'd hit the centre on her first try and Clint spun her around as he congratulated her.
Natasha didn't ever remember laughing when she was younger like the girl Clint swung around was.
All she remembered was the Red Room.
Normally, she refused to let it bother her, but every now and then something made her wish her childhood had been … gentler, if only for a while.
It was entirely possible that Darcy and her mother would have been fine without Clint, and she didn't know enough about the situation to give any real assessment. Nevertheless, Natasha felt fiercely proud of Clint for caring, and for making the effort to be there for his niece.
She was starting to see how he could remain so grounded.
Her gaze turned towards the doorway when a woman stepped out onto the porch. She looked like Darcy, twenty years in the future, and was clearly the girl's mother.
She called them in for dinner, and Natasha took advantage of their entry back into the house to drop quickly out of the tree and settle into a new hiding place in a group of bushes.
She'd have to leave soon, to get back to her car and find somewhere to stay overnight before she headed back to New York. But she thought it was best to wait a few minutes, just to be sure they were all inside for good before she snuck away.
She didn't even notice the faint footsteps behind her.
Later, that would be the part of the day she was most embarrassed about. In their line of work a bit of stalking and a desire to know everyone's secrets was normal. Someone managing to sneak up on the Black Widow, though … that was just humiliating.
"It's going to rain soon, Nat – do you want to come in for a bit?"
She lashed out with her knife before she even thought about who was behind her.
Clint ducked out of the way, and when she looked at him he didn't seem annoyed, only a little sheepish for having startled her.
She looked closely at him and realised he didn't seem at all surprised that she was there.
"You knew I was following you all along," she said, almost accusingly.
Natasha rarely felt foolish, but now she realised she had done what she imagined many others had. She had been momentarily taken in by Clint's casual, easy demeanour, forgetting exactly what lurked beneath.
Natasha was one of the best, but so was Clint, and she had underestimated him.
He shrugged, "you would have found me here eventually, or I would have told you about it. Might as well get it over with now."
"You'd trust me with your family?" she asked incredulously, "you've only known me a little over a year. You were supposed to kill me the first time we met. And I … I was supposed to kill you."
It was the first time she had ever admitted out loud what she was sure he had already suspected. She had never attempted to follow the orders she had been given to dispose of the man who had been tracking her, but they both knew she probably could have managed it, if she had wanted to.
"I like to think I'm a good judge of character," Clint replied, "and you totally like me too much now to kill me."
He winked at her and Natasha couldn't help but smile.
Still, though, she was concerned.
"Our work," she reminded him, "doesn't allow for much certainty."
She imagined he knew what she was trying to say. They were partners right now, SHIELD's Strike Team Delta, but who knew what would happen in the future … whether one day they'd have to face each other as foes, not allies.
The thought … upset her.
She'd generally worked alone in the Red Room, and had never cared about a partner like she cared about Clint.
Clint's expression hardened, "work is work," he agreed, "but this," he gestured to the farmhouse, "this is different. We're partners, Nat, and I hope that never changes … but if it does, if the world screws us over, then Darcy is off limits."
Natasha nodded seriously. It seemed like a solemn moment after all. Promises and vows rarely meant much to people like them, but this one …
She thought she might actually honour this one.
Clint turned cheerful again, "so are you coming in? Beth – that's Darcy's mom – always cooks too much so there's plenty to eat."
Natasha just shook her head.
It was crazy enough of Clint to trust her with the knowledge of his niece … but to actually invite her to meet the girl.
She thought he must be completely mad.
Natasha couldn't sleep without at least two knives under her pillow, and even then she had nightmares more nights than not. She had been known to throw heavy objects at anyone who entered her personal space (Clint being the sole exception) and none of the SHIELD trainees ever looked her in the eyes. She was haunted by the innocent lives she had taken and she didn't think she'd ever be able to enter a room without first working out every possible exit.
Natasha was a spy and an assassin. She was exceedingly good at what she did.
She was not, however, someone you introduced to an innocent teenager.
Clint didn't press. He knew her well enough to see that she wasn't going to change her mind, not today at least.
"Some other time then," he said, grabbing her hand and squeezing it gently.
"Perhaps," she answered non-committedly.
She had red in her ledger. She shouldn't taint Clint's family.
But there was something enticing about the thought of being part of a family, of having something she had only ever observed and never experienced herself.
For now, though, she would leave.
Natasha murmured a quick goodbye and strode off in the direction of the road that would lead her back to her car.
She briefly noticed the figure standing at the kitchen window watching her curiously. She tried to ignore it when Clint's face fell ever so slightly.
She ignored the desire, deep inside her heart, to take Clint up on his offer.
And she hoped that maybe one day she'd be brave enough to stay.
Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.