Those Still Standing
By: GalInTheMoon
Rated: T
A/U, HoHClint, Clintasha, drama, suspense, family
Disclaimer: I do not own them, no money is made, for entertainment only (I'll claim Edith/Edy though).
Not beta-read
This is a multi-chap occurring within an a/u series (formerly High Hopes and Low Barometric Pressure). It is loosely set before the events of Age of Ultron, (but at this point it doesn't seem relevant) and follows the story 'Battle Scars'. You should be able to enjoy this even if you haven't read the other stories in the series. A character from a previous story is mentioned, but I will explain them at the end of the chapter (!spoiler alert if you plan on reading Battle Scars!).
Expect a long wait between chapters. I know exactly where things are headed, what is happening within this storyline, but I have struggled with writing it forever. I decided to put out this first chapter so you could see where the series is going. I'm so extremely ready to write happier times for Clint and Natasha at long last!
Natasha steered down the spotty half-paved, half-gravel road that lead to the Barton farm. It was early enough that the sun cut crystalline slices through the tree shaded morning haze. Deer grazed in the fields while birds rested on their backsides. Steam rose in slow swirls from their noses and off their backs as she passed by them unnoticed on the quiet country road.
She'd been in Iowa off and on with Clint for over six months now, when not helping Tony and the others, she was here helping her partner care for his infant niece that was so suddenly his responsibility. His arm was close to fully rehabilitated but he had yet to pick up his bow. She blamed his still bruised and battered spirit for the hesitation. Everything that had happened in the last several years had come to a point. She reconsidered the thought, and corrected herself, it was more like an edge. A razor sharp, unforgiving edge that left Barton with lacerations to body and mind. Most recently his brother was taken violently, and as far as Clint seemed to care so was his career with the Avengers. She knew, as much as she hated to admit it, she was a step away from becoming part of his peripheral as well. He had a child to consider, to protect now. A responsibility that had to remain outside the life she was interested in living, the life she knew how to live, but she was trying to remain. She was fighting to remain. It was part of what had brought her out so early this morning.
To her right the gated driveway that lead back to the farmhouse came into view and she slowed down, steering the ancient farm truck to the side of the road. It hopped to a halt as she put it in park and jumped out to open the gate, leaving the loud-hinged door standing open. It was a testament to how safe she felt here in this open, gentle farmland. Anywhere else she would have closed the door and brought the keys with her even for the mere three foot skip to the gate. But not here. Here the only witness to her slide in precaution were birds singing and butterflies preoccupied with puddles threatening to shrink in the morning light, leaning fence-posts and the single mailbox with the name Barton painted decades ago on its side. Despite Clint's attempt to scrape the name away it remained as the palest of ghosts on the old red box. For Nat they were friendly sentinels all.
Gate open she ran back to the truck and jumped inside. The worn bench springs gave easily beneath her. The truck so old there were no seat-belts to contend with, a simple radio seemed a luxury in the middle of a sparse, functional dash board. A single gear shift protruded from the metal floorboard bumping against her denim-clad knee at every pothole. She shifted and moved down the driveway, stopping only to close the gate behind her.
The house was silent as she parked in the shade of the large oak that draped over the driveway as well as the porch roof. A breeze moved its limbs making the morning shadows shimmer through the leaves and dance on the porch-boards in a shifting lace of light.
The doorknob didn't budge when she attempted to turn it, locked. She looked through the simple silver ring in her hand for the key. Her own need for security may have eased out here but Clint did not feel the same. Not yet. Not that she didn't understand it.
She turned the key and opened the door, looking left and right as she did. From the door she could see the living room, dining room, half of the staircase before it turned at a landing, and the hallway that stretched the length of the house to the back entry mudroom. She didn't hear or see Clint or little Edith as she walked through the dining room toward the kitchen. They may have been sleeping still. The nights were long. Between Edith's crying and Clint's still haunted nights none of them slept much.
She made her way slowly up the stairs, checking the bedrooms as she passed, before heading back down to the kitchen when the second floor proved as empty as the first.
She shoved her hands in the back pocket of her jeans and turned a circle. She had been excited and the now receding energy lingered as a restless tug. She was biting her lip when a note on the fridge caught her attention: Morning early bird. We're in the big barn.-C
She smiled and walked toward the back door, stepping over a pair of dirt encrusted boots that seemed to have cemented to the floor a lifetime ago. She had attempted to clean them up once but Clint's, "Don't." stopped her before she had done so much as flick a clump of dirt from the laces. He wanted them to remain just as they were for reasons he'd never explained. It was just one of many small mysteries within the old home that she planned on asking him about one day.
The sun was unobstructed on this side of the farmhouse and she had to squint as she stepped out onto the lawn that sloped down to the old barn, her hand held at a salute across her brow as she made her way down to the aging behemoth. The large doors were always open, having aged separately beneath the weight of the once sagging building they no longer closed. Even after Clint had stabilized the structure they refused to join. She could hear him talking to Edith as she came close. Though hushed his voice still echoed out of the empty abyss.
Once her eyes adjusted to the transition from sunlight to the sunbeam slatted dimness of the barn she could see Clint toward the back, turned away from her, working on something. She didn't see Edith until she passed the clean and empty horse stall to Clint's right. She was playing calmly, happily in a shaft of sunlight on a blanket he had spread across the floor. Her short hair shimmered in a halo of chestnut ringlets. A small hand-made gate stretched across the bottom of the doorway.
She looked back to Clint still working. She knew not to grab him from behind, and so she quietly stepped up beside him, allowing herself and her shadow to fall into his peripheral. He looked over at her and smiled, "Morning." He leaned over and kissed her before gesturing to what he was working on, and shrugged, "Thought I'd give it a try."
She took in his work. It was a rusty old Frankenstein's monster of scrap machines he'd found around the property. It was clearly a work in progress, but she could see the potential. It was nearly recognizable as a go-cart or dune buggy.
"How's it going?" She asked. Finding pleasure in seeing this side of him.
He grinned, never one to be defeated, "It's crap, but it's keeping me busy. You care to hold this corner up?"
She leaned forward, "Ready if you are."
"Watch your fingers." He said as he slid a small tire on, and fastened it in place, accidentally grazing her knuckles as he did.
When he was done she stood back. "Beautiful."
His lips turned up in a wider grin as he stepped back beside her. Taking in the pieced together cart before he looked to her again, "Yeah, don't quit your day job, right." He rubbed his hands together, still grinning as he walked towards Edith. Talking to her as he went, "Hey peanut. Let's go."
"About that..." She hesitated as he picked up Edith and walked toward the open doors.
"What's that? My non-existent day job?" He waited for her at the doors a second.
She followed, squinting as they walked out into the bright sun, "I got us a job this morning."
"Really?" His grin turned lop-sided.
"In a way."
"What in a way, kinda way?" He glanced at her as they made their way up the small bank to the house.
"There's an empty building in town, an old shop on Main Street, but it's long and open with good floors..." She so wanted to glance away to say the last bit of information. "I'm renting it...for a studio."
Clint walked in front of her, climbing the steps to the backdoor, Edith bouncing in the crook of his toned arm watching her intently.
She climbed the stairs behind him, "It's ridiculous, I know, I just..." She was fumbling over her words, "I have to do something." She looked up at him, holding the door open for her.
He understood just what this was for her. The effort to stay here, to embrace this life was obvious enough. The enormity of the offer to try, the permanence it implied, above and beyond the off and on attempt she had been making for months. One foot always out the door, waiting for any call to action. But the fight she was waging within herself was something maybe only he could see and it left him hesitant to embrace the idea. Could she really want this if she had to try so hard? Should he want her to? "I think it's great if that's what you really want."
She walked inside and turned around, walking backwards into the house, "I don't know if there will be any students."
"Are you kidding? They'll be lining up at the door."
She turned around, "I hope so. I think."
"Hey, nothing ventured-" He walked past her heading for Edith's high chair.
"Nothing gained." She spoke over him. She waited, out of habit, for him to turn towards her before speaking, "We should make a deal."
"What kind of deal is that Miss Romanoff?" He walked past her to the fridge.
"Work with me." She spoke to his backside sticking out of the fridge.
He stood, "Teaching dance? Like a this-is-how-you-don't-do-it kinda thing?"
"Self-defense. Just a few nights a week."
"Nat."
"It would get you out of the house and back into practice."
"Tasha...I-"
"Work with me Barton." She smiled and slid toward him where he stood, fridge still open, baby food now in one hand. She was inches from wrapping her arms around him when he kissed her quickly, closed the fridge, and walked away. Sitting down in front of Edith he draped a towel over his thigh and spoke over his shoulder, "Maybe." He wanted to say more. She could see him hold his breath a second, a hesitation before he changed course and said, "Did you catch the weather?"
She let it go. She knew well enough to go with the flow of his thoughts. He would eventually come back to the conversation at hand, "No. Why?"
"They're calling for a severe storm tonight. Could make a twister."
"Like a tornado-twister, twister?"
Clint stopped himself as his mind raced through bad jokes about awkward party games, "Yeah. We should get things ready." He gave Edith a bite of blueberry mash before turning back to Nat, "Just in case."
"Okay."
"We have a storm shelter. It'll be fine." He gestured out the window to the root cellar/storm shelter across from the house.
Natasha leaned forward, looking out the window, "That? The pile of rotten wood? It doesn't look solid enough to protect the hole it sits on."
"It'll work."
She looked from him to the dry, crispy boards across the way, "How many times have you stayed in there?"
"During a storm?"
"Yes."
"Twice maybe, when I was kid."
"So twenty, thirty some years ago."
"Good point. We're probably screwed." He smiled and stood, walking the short distance between them, wrapping his arm around her waist, "You know you're even beautiful when you're scared Romanoff."
She rubbed her hand along his cheek and along his chin before kissing him. When they stopped she stayed close, "I'm not scared Barton."
He searched her eyes. It was true. She wasn't afraid of the storm and she wasn't afraid of this. Whatever this thing was they had going. For once in their relationship he felt like he was the one backing off while she was pushing forward. Fearless. "Don't I know it."
He smiled again and lifted her with one arm carrying her over, away from Edith who blissfully painted violet swirls on the table with her food, and dropped Natasha on the couch. He crawled on top of her and they began to kiss again, their hands finding buttons and hooks as they went. Halfway down her thigh Nat's phone vibrated against her leg. Clint paused and leaned back as she answered, "Hello."
"Where are you?" It was Stark.
She glanced at Clint apologetically, "Same as always. Why?"
"Listen, just a heads up, probably nothing, but uhm...Conrad was spotted at Dallas International last night."
"Okay." She was ready to wrap up the call and get back to what they were doing. They knew Conrad had survived the confrontation in Caracas, the only one of her crew. It had been a surprise to find out she had gotten away from Coulson but they knew from then on it was just a matter of time before she showed up in the states. Whether she would have revenge in mind was up for debate. It was good to know, but like Tony said, it was probably nothing.
"She rented a car and headed north." Probably towards you. Tony added.
She sat up and leaned into the conversation a little more, "Are you still tracking her? Conrad." She said the last bit to Clint who was also sitting up now, curious. She switched the phone to speaker.
"We lost her in Kansas." It was saturated with an apology.
"Alright. Thanks Tony."
"No problem. We're still looking but-"
"Not a lot of security cameras across the plains." Clint spoke up.
"Cupid. How you doin'?" His tone changed.
"Good. Really good." At least he had been.
"And the tic-tacs?" It was how Tony had started referring to Clint's miniscule hearing aids since he and Banner had brought them back into working order months ago. With a slight upgrade of course.
"Perfect."
"Nothin' less for our resident avenging uncle...dad, bow guy." Tony's thoughts switched back to the problem at hand. His frustration was audible, "Listen, we'll track her down. It's just a matter of time and we scrubbed every record that could lead her to you or Edith. No birth records, medical, or court. The adoption documents are all dark. You're both shadows until you say otherwise. She can't find you Barton, even if she tries."
Clint stared toward a point unseen, "She'll regret it if she does."
"Between you and Red, I'll regret it for her." There was a slight pause, "Don't forget we're here if..." Never one to be too comfortable with being overtly thoughtful, Stark stumbled.
"We won't Tony. Thanks for the heads up." Nat spoke up.
"Yeah, alright. Bye you two and tell the spud her best looking, smartest uncle said hi."
With that the call ended. Clint stared at Nat, she stared at him, "She can't find us here." She broke the silence.
"I'm not worried about Conrad." He sat up straighter, "If she's determined to find trouble she'll find it."
"And you'll find revenge?"
"Would that be so bad? I'm not out looking for her. I have a tombstone on the hill, an orphaned niece in the kitchen, and an arm that may never pull a bow again. Why shouldn't I take it if she offers it?" He looked away, out the window beside them.
She watched him a moment, bypassing the blaring truth that revenge was never his style, and skipped to the other fact that she couldn't ignore, "You didn't tell me about your arm."
His jaw tightened, "Sorry, I just...It's done Nat. They've done what they can."
"Is this from Doc?"
He glanced at her a moment but returned his attention to the horizon where, out the window could be seen the first hints of the approaching storm as it seeped through the treeline a dark puddle. The rest of the sky was bright blue with only the occasional cotton ball of clouds lazily drifting over, a sparrow calmly glided over, out of sight. Ignorant bliss, he thought. "She's out of options."
"Surgical options."
"That's kinda her area of expertise."
"So you go to someone else. Ask Stark for a referral. I'm sure he knows an amazing surgeon or two."
He decided to give her his full attention when he saw the look on her face, "I will...eventually." He put his hand on her knee. His shoulders slumped and the bright humor that had been sparking off of him faded, "Just not yet. I'm done." He put his hand up stopping her from protesting or even offering comfort. He didn't need or want it, "I'm not in a hurry to fix what doesn't feel broken. My arm is in good shape. Doc said she would be beyond satisfied for any other patient. It's good enough. Okay maybe I won't be saving the world for a while-"
"Or using your bow?"
"No...maybe..." He drifted for a moment. His thoughts veering into their own private territory before he spoke again, "But I like hanging around here, taking care of Edy. I'm happy to just be. For now." He squeezed her knee, "It's good." He searched her eyes, "You can understand that. Right?"
She watched him until he looked away from her. His attention going back out the window. Was he ashamed of his confession or his hope? Could she understand? On one hand it felt to her that he was giving up. It stung like a personal betrayal. He had always fought even if there was a slim to no chance of winning. The bad odds only made him try harder. She counted on it. Maybe she even needed it. How could he give up? But that wasn't fair, she berated herself. He wasn't giving up. He was choosing his battles. As one who had been to hell and back more times than she would care to count but always, always went back out, he was simply stepping back and saying not this time. Not this fight. Not yet. He was asking her to let him stay down for a minute longer. To maybe even tap out for once. For her to understand the need. He was asking for a sort of personal peace. A peace that, in some ways, rested on her acceptance of it. How could she deny him?
"I understand."
"I know you're not happy, but it is what it is, you know, the arm, the bow, the everything…If Conrad comes here I promise she'll regret it, but Nat, I'm done looking for the fight."
She leaned into him, "I know." She said aloud but couldn't silence the voice in her head that said the fight would always be looking for them and there wasn't a damn thing they could do about it anymore than they could stop the dark clouds that stained the horizon.
Edith cried in the kitchen. Her blueberry paint now an uncomfortable sticky mess. Clint stood and she watched as he walked over to the small child. Gently he wiped her clean and lifted her from the chair. Despite herself a knot caught in her throat. Time overlapped. The past fell upon the present, a thin sheet of cellophane. He was exactly the same and completely different from the man she had met at the other end of an arrow. But then so was she. The woman she was then would not recognize the one she had become and yet she was still exactly who she was, only better. Thank the gods above and Clint Francis Barton for that.
She stood and walked to the kitchen, rubbing her hand down Clint's arm as she passed him. She peeked over his shoulder at Edy who pulled on his earlobe, turning the pink flesh purple with residual juice while her other hand played with his lips that were squeezed tight, but smiling. Edy cooed at Natasha, sharing a laugh at Clint's expense while he looked over his shoulder at her. This was it. This was all he was willing to fight for, maybe just for now, but for now was all that mattered. She could see the appeal. To be more than a living weapon, to be a human again. It was why she had rented the studio. Why she planned on saying no the next time Tony called her away.
They had earned this time, however brief to simply be. To live and love. Come hell, or storms, or Conrad they would have it. A terrible realization struck her and she stepped away from the two of them.
Clint watched her, "What is it?"
She turned around, biting her lip a second, "The studio. I rented it in my name, with this address." She turned, looking for the keys she had abandoned when she entered the house earlier "I'll withdraw from the contract. I can ask for the paperwork. It's only been an hour or so."
Clint looked down, "Leave it." The studio was hers, the idea, the hope. He'd be damned if she let it go to hide. Anyway, he may have been done looking for a fight, but he was ready for this one. No, it was beyond that. He was hungry for it. There was no righting the wrongs done. There was no bringing Barney back, no saving Edy from the loss of her parents, no going back in time and saving all those people caught in the crossfire, but he would see to it that the last remaining member of the group that had brought so much pain to so many would see justice. He couldn't contain the smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth, "Let her come."
a/n: Kelly Conrad a.k.a. "Bombshell" was part of a group that in 'Battle Scars' abducted Clint, his brother Barney, and Barney's pregnant wife Mara. She is the only surviving member of her team and the explosives expert whom Clint believes created the device that killed his brother.