They'd won.
The Avengers had saved New York from an alien invasion.
Critics were raving, newscasters broadcasting story after story, and 'The Daily Bugle' had actually stopped picking on New York's friendly neighborhood Spiderman for a day.
Just one day though. A day Peter Parker had sadly missed, seeing as he'd been on vacation with his friends.
His loss.
But let's not get away from ourselves; because this story isn't about Peter Parker, or the Avengers.
It's about one very much screwed SHIELD agent by the name of Clint Francis Barton.
i-~~~~~~~~~~~~~******~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-i
Quite a bit before all this Chitauri business had gone down, Agent Clint Barton had liked his life very much.
Training recruits, taking exciting missions, and of course…
There was his girlfriend Agent Barbara Morse, aka 'Mockingbird.'
Gorgeous long blonde hair that shone brighter than the sun, eyes like the deepest sapphire, and a proficiency in staff and martial arts training that would make almost any aspiring ninja burst into tears. She and Clint had been dating for almost two years, and well, it's only logical that he'd bought a ring to officially bring them together forever in the public eye.
It was nothing dazzling, but Barbara wasn't one of those silly valley girls that had it in their heads that a man only loved you as much as the price of the wedding band was.
The ring he'd gotten was white gold, fashioned in winding feathers, with an opal set in an array of topaz. Not your average engagement ring, but Clint had figured that he could save the whole diamond shebang for the other ring.
After all, SHEILD paychecks weren't exactly as big as most people thought they were.
He'd taken her out to dinner several times, fingering the velvet box in his pocket, but never really deemed it the right time to ask.
In hindsight, he probably should have proposed the night she'd told him that she was pregnant the first time.
Then again, screw hindsight.
Clint wasn't the father kind of guy, and would have been lying if he'd said that the night Barbara had told him she was expecting his child, his expression had been a little less than excited.
More like it had been one of utter terror.
Barbara knew his fear though, and took his calloused hand in hers.
"It's okay Clint. I know. I'm just as freaked out and worried as you are. But hey, if you don't want it, we can put it up for adoption or somethin'. I wouldn't want us to raise a kid while workin' for SHEILD."
Clint felt a little more than guilty; he knew how much Bobbi loved kids.
"Yeah… Well. We can wait and see right? I mean we'd have to tell Director Fury and such. I'm sure he'd hate to see two of his best spies out on maternity leave."
Barbara laughed, "I'd be out Clint, not you. The baby is in me birdbrain."
"Oh. Right."
He'd kissed her forehead, wrapping an arm around her waist and placing his hand on the flat of her belly.
"Hey, since I'm Hawkeye, and you're Mockingbird. What'dya think the kid be?"
"Hmm…. How about 'Hummingbird'? Those guys are pretty badass."
Clint pulled his mouth down in a frown, one eye squinting.
"Yeah, he can let out sonic screeches or somethin'."
She snickered and pressed her body closer to his, "And what makes you say it's a boy?"
"Call it intuition. Not that I wouldn't want a girl, if it's a girl she can be Hummingbird."
"And what if it's a boy?"
"Sparrow."
Now it was Barbara's turn to look skeptical.
They were quiet after that, watching as the other people in the restaurant chattered and sipped their wine. Then Clint felt the vibrations of muffled laughing and he looked down at his girlfriend with raised eyebrows.
"Something funny Bobbi?"
She snickered, slapping the table with her palm, sides heaving with the effort of trying to contain her mirth. When she finally was able to control her breathing, she took a deep breath and beamed at Clint, tears of laughter in her eyes.
"I just had THE best mental image."
"Should I even dare to ask?"
"You an' me." She snorted, "In a nest right. Sitting on an egg an' screeching at everyone and anyone who comes too close."
Barbara cackled, stomping her feet.
Clint had to admit, it was an entertaining thought. He chortled along with her, the both of them ignoring the disdainful looks they received from the other patrons.
Six months later on October twelfth, Barbara had stopped smiling. She locked herself in their bedroom and stayed there for two weeks.
She'd miscarried.
Clint had left her alone, knowing she was more affected by this than he. Still, he couldn't quite shove off the disappointment he felt wrenching in his gut. If anything, he was more distressed over Barbara's wellbeing. After all, they hadn't wanted a kid… right?
Since 'Feather' never made it into the world, Clint and Barbara's relationship had been on the decline. She'd no longer grab his ass when they passed each other in the hallways in the hellicarrier and he'd no longer stick feathers with sexual innuendos in her spare bras and panties.
The other agents had noticed this, and even Fury had stopped sending the pair of them on missions together.
The velvet box with the ring had been swallowed by Clint's boxer shorts and socks, shut tightly away in his side of the dresser.
At their apartment, words between them were scarce, and Clint could sometimes hear her crying in the shower.
He'd tried to comfort Barbara once, telling her that it wasn't her fault.
She'd given him a black eye.
It was all going downhill so fast, Clint was scrambling to get it back. Only it was like trying to hold water in your hands. No matter how hard you clenched your fists, the water would just drip out.
They were on the verge of a breakup, both knowing it would be any day now. Clint had suggested that they at least try to rekindle the flame, anything so long as they didn't let the fire just die out. Movies, missions together, a couple nights of wild sex…
This of course led to another somewhat-unplanned-but-planned pregnancy.
Clint thought their problems were over as he looked over her shoulder at the plastic test tube, only Barbara looked a little less than stellar. In fact she'd cried, but at least didn't punch Clint when he'd held her tightly, muffling her sobs in his chest. As it turns out she thought that she was replacing 'Feather.'
Clint smoothed her hair back, calmly stating that nothing would replace their miscarried girl. This was just another chance to get it right.
And get it right Clint had meant.
There were regular doctor appointments, absolutely no missions for Miss Mockingbird, a steady diet and low-strenuous exercises.
Both were elated when she passed the sixth month mark.
Soon, nine months of Hawkeye waking up in the middle of the night to give massages to an aching body part, or taking a thirty minute drive to a Persian-Italian cuisine restaurant to get the special kind of Shrimp Alfredo they made would be over with. He could change the channel without receiving a kick to his face from his lovely manatee of a girlfriend. There would be no more Disney marathons or Assassin's Creed 2 repeats. Clint swore, if he heard the phrase 'Requiescat in pace' one more time he would put an arrow through the tv. All things considered, life going pretty well for the couple. Their relationship still hadn't fully recovered to its full glamour, but once 'Baby bird' came the pair suspected things would get back on track.
Fury had given Barbara a year of maternity leave and Clint would have a few months off starting a week before the baby was due.
Hawkeye was on his last work day scheduled, scowling from his post and eager to get home to Bobbi when all hell broke loose.
That day the Tesseract spat out some mythical Norse god, psychotic and deranged.
Clenched tightly in the Asguardian's hand, was the thing that would fuck everything up.
Just one touch of that sceptre to his chest, and Agent Clint F. Barton was replaced by a blank eyed goon, trailing after a dangerous criminal as if he'd been trained to do that his whole life.
At first Loki's 'Little Hawk' had resisted, enough to not kill Director Fury when expressly ordered.
The god had found it amusing, but would not tolerate disobedience from his pets. There had been a punishment each time Clint had even thought of going against his Master's wishes. Punishments Hawkeye would never be able to admit to anyone without putting a bullet in his skull afterwards just to escape the shame and embarrassment.
He'd been marked a traitor and when his fellow SHIELD agents shot at him, it was aiming to kill.
If Black Widow hadn't snapped him out of it, Hawkeye would be dead.
i-~~~~~~~~~~~~~******~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-i
Clint was standing in the doorway of his and Barbara's apartment a few weeks after the Avengers had beaten Loki. 'His' stuff shoved in a backpack and suitcase, the pathetic image complete with a fussing newborn in one hand, and custody papers in the other.
"Bobbi, please. If you'll just hear me out-" he flinched as the door slammed in his face.
The baby started crying, and Clint almost did too, but pride kept him from doing so. Shoving the papers in his backpack and slinging it over one shoulder, he wondered numbly how to get the kid to stop wailing. He tugged the suitcase along behind him, rocking the arm that held his son as he'd seen mothers do, and headed out the building.
SHIELD might have branded him un-trustable, and Barbara might have just broken up with him entirely abandoning their child with him, but at least he still had the Avengers somewhat.
Natasha's car was a blessing on the darkest of days when she pulled up at their building, and knowing her best friend could use a little ill-placed humour, she rolled down the windows and tipped her sunglasses back.
"Hey there stranger. You looking for a ride?"
Clint looked up, not even able to put on a fake smile to hide how miserable he felt.
"Yeah. But only if you're going my way."
Not even their little inside joke had cheered him up, and why should it? She got out of the car and took the suitcase from him, popping the trunk open.
"I don't mind. I go wherever the wind takes me."
He didn't reply, getting into the passenger seat slowly so as not to disturb the now sleeping baby.
Natasha closed the back and slid into the driver's seat, putting the stick shift in gear.
"Clint, I know it's not going to make you feel any better, but things are going to work themselves out. You just got to give them time."
As the car lurched forward and sped along down the road, Clint let out a shaky sigh.
"I don't think so 'Tasha. Not this time."
If the Black Widow hadn't snapped him out of it, Hawkeye would be dead. And as they turned the corner, heading for god knows where, Clint wished that Natasha hadn't brought him back.
i-~~~~~~~~~~~~~******~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-i
((AN: Whoah hey, yeah. I actually wrote something. It's angsty, but what did you expect from me? I'm kinda new to writing things in the Avengers verse. Also am new to this pairing, so. Be gentle? Naw be as hard as you want.
I really love the idea of Superfamily but not super thrilled with the Stony part. So the next best thing is Smartass Family, but I have yet to read any fics of that. So. Because I love FrostHawk, and there isn't a lot of fluffy stuff between them, I'd thought I'd give it a go.
Barbara Morse is a real character, as is the miscarried baby and living one. Most of the stuff I will write for this story is actual comic book references mixed in with my own little touch. I hate to make her seem like a bad guy when in reality I love her. Know that she's not the antagonist. She is human and humans make mistakes. Especially when they're stressed or scared. Please don't be upset when she resurfaces, as she is going to be a big part of the story.
I hope you enjoyed, I will try to update this. I'm just awful at that though -Syd))
