A/N: Timeframe, pre-Loki. Spoilers for Avengers: Age of Ultron.

Thanks to Lady Pandora for the Beta.

Namaste,

Sunny

Avengers

Father Knows Best

It was one of those days were anything could happen, good or bad. Natasha knew which she preferred, but if it went the other way, she was prepared for that as well. At least when it came to aliens and super villains. Dealing with her best friend was another matter.

Through the window, she watched Clint on the archery practice range, built to his exacting specifications. Even from here she could see he was off his game. Had been for a few days, now that it had been brought to her attention. The message on her phone this morning explained why.

Natasha pushed out the door and walked across the grass, stopping a few feet behind Clint, once more admiring his skill with an unconventional weapon. Not to mention his technical expertise in creating the specialty arrowheads, which he built himself. No mean feat for a man with no formal education.

He nocked an arrow and pulled back to the anchor point. She had seen him do this exact thing more times than she could count, but today, instead of touching the string to his cheek, he held it away. The arrow flew toward the target, hitting at the outer left edge of the bullseye. He huffed in frustration as he reached for another arrow, making a show of examining the point. "Do something for you, Nat?"

Not surprised that he knew she was there when she hadn't made a sound, Natasha moved up next to him, wiping the smile from her face so he would know how serious this was. "Laura called."

"Surprised it took this long." Clint turned back toward the target, raised the bow, and aimed.

"Why are you fighting this?" Releasing the tension on the string, Clint pointed the arrow at the ground, but didn't respond. Resisting an eye roll, Natasha stated, "You're afraid."

"I'm not afraid. I just don't like going." Avoiding her gaze, he spread his arms out to the side. "So sue me. Whatever. I have to…"

Taking another step forward, Natasha laid a hand over Clint's where it held the recurve bow. "I've made an appointment for this afternoon. I'll drive."

Closing his eyes, Clint gave in without grace. "Fine. I'll go, but I'm driving myself."

Natasha shook her head. "You won't be able to drive afterward." She shifted her feet, and when he looked at her, she saw the defeat in his eyes. He nodded and she smiled. "Relax. It'll be over soon."

Thirty Minutes Later

Clint got out of the car and met Natasha at the rear. He looked at the building with dread. It wasn't that he didn't want his problem solved. Just that he didn't like being sedated because it left him vulnerable. Even having Natasha with him didn't ease his mind. Annoyed that he had to come here at all, he almost changed his mind. Then, he accidentally clenched his teeth, sending a hard wave of pain through the left side of his jaw that shot down his neck and made his head throb. "Ow! Sonofa*****!"

"If you'd gone when it first happened, you wouldn't be in pain now." Natasha laughed at his death glare on full force. "You know I'm right." She pointed at the front door. "Go."

Taking a deep breath caused a whole new upsurge of pain. Through will power alone, Clint kept quiet. Inside the office, the cool air felt good against his overheated skin, except over the left side of his face.

The receptionist looked up when Clint stepped up the desk with Natasha sticking close by. "Clint Barton. I have an appointment with Dr. Kuznetsov."

The woman's eyes widened. "Most people can't pronounce his name. We call him Dr. K."

"Yeah, well, I'm not most people."

She passed him a clipboard and a pen. "Because you're a first time patient, we need you to fill out these forms."

Under his breath, he whispered, "Oh, joy. More forms." Clint grabbed a seat. Natasha poured herself a cup of coffee and joined him. "I'm a big boy. I can get a tooth filled all by myself."

"Can't. Promised Laura. And he's an oral surgeon. The tooth has to come out."

"Why couldn't I go to the one at work?"

Natasha sipped her coffee and held it in just the right place to tease him with the enticing scent. "You really wanted your co-workers to know you're afraid to go to the dentist?"

Clint wanted to glare at his best friend again, but the pain made that a bad idea. He finished the forms, returned them to the receptionist. She gave him a sympathetic smile. "Relax, Mr. Barton. It's just one wisdom tooth."

Several Hours Later

Natasha supervised while two SHIELD agents helped Clint to his quarters in the SHIELD facility. She dismissed them with a nod of thanks. Leaving the door open to halt rumors about their purported personal relationship, Natasha removed Clint's jacket and boots, then sat in the chair to keep an eye on him. Dr. Kuznetsov had advised that he not be left alone for the next twenty-four hours. She guessed the reason was they'd had to completely knock him out because he wouldn't stay still during surgery. When they left the oral surgeon's office, Clint could still walk, but he'd fallen asleep a few minutes after he swallowed one of the pain pills prescribed by the doctor.

On the way back to base, Natasha had called Clint's wife to report that all had gone as well as expected. Even through the phone, Natasha could see the eye roll. She promised to take care of Clint and have him call home as soon as he was able to talk.

He moaned in his sleep, reminding Natasha of the doctor's instructions. She tapped her headset. "Romanoff to Coulson."

"Coulson. Back so soon, Tasha? Thought he'd put up more of a fight."

"The pain must've been bad if he gave in so easily." She got to her feet and went out into the hallway. "I need a favor. He's not supposed to be left alone, and I need to step out for a few minutes."

Coulson's bland smile came through in his tone. "And you need a babysitter. I'll be there in three." True to his word, the senior agent arrived in exactly three minutes. He watched Clint thoughtfully for a few seconds, taking note of the bag of gauze pads on the table. "All this for one tooth?"

In response, Natasha held up four fingers. "Only one was impacted. The doctor thought it best not to wait for the others to go bad, so he convinced Clint to have all four taken out at once."

"Convinced?"

Grinning sheepishly, Natasha turned at the door. "He was out like a light and the doctor needed someone to make a decision. I'm his emergency contact, so I told them to go ahead. If he's pissed when he wakes up, too bad."

~~O~~

Coulson took off his jacket and hung it on the back of the only chair in the small room. Clint made a noise in his sleep and Coulson went to check on him. Both sides of his face were swollen, making him look like a forty-year old squirrel with a five o'clock shadow storing nuts for the winter. He moaned and reached up to touch his face. To stop him, Coulson grabbed his wrist. That seemed to calm Clint, and his restless shifting stopped. Coulson tried to extract his hand, but the archer held on tight.

A few minutes later, Clint began mumbling in his sleep. Leaning over the bed, Coulson tried to make out what he was saying, but his speech was too garbled. He also wouldn't let go of his hand.

Resigned to not going anywhere soon, Coulson perched on the side of the bed. In this position, Clint looked like a child seeking comfort from a parent.

They stayed like that for nearly thirty minutes, until Clint's eyes fluttered open. He looked around, his bleary gaze stopping on Coulson. "Where 'm I?"

Clint's words were slurred by the drugs in his system and the bite packs used to stop the bleeding. "In your room."

"Wh'r's Mom?'

Coulson guessed that Clint asking for his mother, who died more than thirty years ago, was a side effect of the medication. "She'll be back soon."

"'Kay. C'n I ha' a d'ink o' water?"

"Of course." Coulson took a bottle of water from the mini fridge and poured a small amount into the glass he found in the bathroom. He helped Clint sit up and held the glass to his mouth so he could take a sip. "Slowly, Clint."

When he had enough, Clint lay back down and closed his eyes, one hand resting on his stomach and the other patting the bed until he found Coulson's, and gripped it tight. "Thanks, Dad."

Taken aback, Coulson responded automatically. "You're welcome, son."

"When Mom gets home, will you play catch wit' me?"

Coulson didn't know what made him go along with Clint's delusion. He just did. "Of course. Right now, you need rest."

"Don' wanna rest. Wanna get up n'…"

"Father knows best, Clint. Close your eyes." Clint did as Coulson said and was asleep within seconds.

Not long after, Natasha came in carrying two ice packs, and he knew from the look on her face that she'd heard. He returned her smirk with a scowl as he extracted his hand and stood. "You might want to cut back on the drugs you're giving him, Tasha. He's delusional."

The smirk softened into a rueful grin. "No kidding. On the ride back, he called me Polly. From our conversation, I gathered she was his pet parrot while he was with Carson's."

That night, while flossing his teeth, Coulson reflected on the odd feeling in his stomach, like going over the top of a rollercoaster, when Clint had called him Dad. If his life had gone differently, he would've married his college girlfriend and they'd have a couple of kids by now. But then Fury happened.

As full as his life was with friends as close as family, a job he loved defending the country he loved, the one thing he missed was having a family. As it stood, that wasn't an option, and would always be his one regret.

And though he pretended to be offended and even outraged, given the small difference in their ages, when Clint-or one of the younger agents-called him Dad, secretly, Coulson loved it.

End