Author's Note: Again, thank you for everyone's review. This chapter does contain some mild adult content. Please let me know what you think as this chapter takes a bit of a different approach.

After

Chapter 7

Natasha was observant. She was one of the best spies in the world. Her life depended on observing and learning from people's behaviors and actions.

She had been aware of Wanda's involvement in the team's grief since after the battle with Ultron. It appeared to be helping them, yet it still surprised her that Steve was allowing it. She surmised that Fury had something to do with that.

Fury had left after the funeral several days ago, returning to the Helicarrier. She had been pleasantly surprised at Pietro stepping up to do the lion's share of the work of maintain the large group of people now staying at the farmhouse while Natasha focused on taking care of Laura and Steve focused on taking care of the kids. Together, they cared for the Barton family.

Well, her mouth hardened, what was left of it.

She heard footsteps on the wooden floor and turned to see Wanda raising her knuckles to knock on the bright yellow door. Laura and the kids had taken to sleeping in the master bedroom together, curled up on the bed in there. Natasha had taken Lila's room, curling up on the twin bed at night, staring at the stuffed animals in the moonlight until her memories allowed her to sleep. She hadn't gotten much sleep at all.

Natasha gestured Wanda into the room. "Wanda. How can I help you?"

Wanda stood in the door, arms crossed over her chest, holding a dark burgundy shawl around her shoulders. Her dark hair was pulled back messily. Wanda nodded to where Natasha's gaze had been outside the window. "You were looking at the oak tree."

Natasha looked back to the tree and the days-old grave. It struck her that even now, even though she knew it was irrational, she felt compelled to watch out for her partner. The sounds of crickets and the cicadas filtering in through the open window overpowered the now-familiar and almost soothing zip of Pietro doing ... something ... downstairs.

"Your brother ... does he sleep?" her expression was open and curious, hoping Wanda took the opportunity to change the subject.

Wanda smiled as she looked over her shoulder fondly to the staircase. "He does not need as much sleep as we do. He will rest for a few hours when he feels settled."

A scraping noise filtered up the steps, followed by a loud bang. Natasha cocked a sardonic eyebrow. "And when do you think that will be?" she asked lightly, smiling slightly.

Wanda smiled as well. "I hope soon. Not everyone is as used to his quirks as I am. He is my brother and I love him. But even I find him annoying."

Natasha smiled at Wanda's playful tone and gazed out the window again, watching the cobalt night sky surround the green-yellow flash of lightning bugs. Coming to this farm had so many times been a balm to agitated nerves, a welcome reminder that happiness existed in a world that was otherwise violent and thickly coated in red. Being brought to this place and being accepted into this family had given her something to fight for, not just to fight against.

Natasha heard Wanda cross the room, her footfalls light on the floor. "Do you have a brother, Natasha?"

Natasha nodded. "I did in a way." Her eyes flicked again to the oak tree. "But not anymore."

"I do not know what I would do without Pietro," Wanda said airily. She picked up a stuffed animal - Lila's hawk - and looked at it. "I am sorry for your loss. I am not sure how I can help."

The corners of Natasha's mouth dipped as she stiffened. "People die. That is the way of life. One should concentrate on the living."

"That is true." Wanda moved to stand next to Natasha. "But remembering the dead is often how people find peace in the living. Pietro and I mourn our parents still, but their loss has taught us much."

Natasha met Wanda's eyes, expecting to find a swirl of red in their depths. She found only crystal blue.

"I have seen what you have done for the others, Wanda," she said. "I know you are helping them to remember. That is not something that I am interested in."

Wanda sat down on the small twin bed, inviting Natasha to sit with her. She did. "It has helped them. They will not forget. And in the process, I have come to know Hawkeye better."

Natasha cocked an eyebrow. "Perhaps. But I'm not interested."

Wanda cocked her head. "You do not trust me," she said, leaning back on her elbows on the mattress.

Natasha leaned back, too. "I trust precious few people in this world," she said calmly without a hint of venom or anger in her voice. "We buried one of those this week." She looked out the window again, the dull outline of a stone under the oak vaguely visible in the moonlight. She turned again to Wanda. "Trust takes time."

Wanda nodded, rolling off the end of the bed to stand. "I understand," she said. "Perhaps you may allow me at some point." She gazed at the bookshelf lined with plush toys of each of the Avengers and thin books dotting the shelves. "I hope to be able to pass these memories along to the children. To let them know their father."

Natasha nodded. "We have similar goals, then," she said quietly, following Wanda's gaze to the shelves. "But for me, I prefer to mourn alone."

Wanda looked at her, a look of curiosity crossing over her face. "Of course."

The women stared at each other in the moonlight, the dark stretching out peacefully between them. Wanda smiled and Natasha nodded as Wanda turned to go.

A dull crash echoed up the stairs from the kitchen, followed by a zipping sound and the guffaws of male voices downstairs. Wanda rolled her eyes in amazement. "Pietro is fast, but he can be clumsy," she said.

Natasha smirked. "You'd best see to him, then. It's amazing the kids are still asleep." Wanda nodded and breezed out of the room muttering curses under her breath. Natasha watched her go, and then turned and looked back over the oak tree, its branches waving slightly in the night breeze.

The night had deepened during her talk with Wanda. She glanced at the bookcase beside the bed where Lila's plush Avenger collection decorated the shelf. They were one piece of licensing that Tony had allowed as a gesture of good will and public relations. Their battles had a tendency to cause property damage and little stuffed animals to the right kid often went a long way to ameliorate the kid's parents. Besides, even Steve had a hard time refusing the fluffy little things. Captain America, in full battle gear with white-stitched wings on the side of his helmet, held a hard plastic shield that had been stitched to his torso. Thor had been clutched in Lila's small hand so often that the Mjolnir was hanging listlessly and the cape was creased beyond salvaging. Tony's plush Iron Man suit sat poised pristinely next to a hulking, scowling green form. Natasha's mouth hardened. Bruce had been a fling, a roll of the dice. She had lost on that one, too.

Closest to the bed, and within easy reach should Lila need them during the night, were the Hawkeye and Black Widow dolls. Natasha's own was a peculiarly stuffed version of her tactical suit, her wrists lighting up with blue LEDs in a near-parody of her own Widow's Bites. The fabric face featured careful stitching and embroidery, depicting large blue-green eyes complete with mascara and eye-shadow, and plump lips with lip gloss of sparkling pink thread. She had scoffed when she had first saw her plush's overly made-up look in tactical gear. "Sparkly pink lip gloss isn't particularly helpful in a battle," she had said.

Clint had smiled, hooting in laughter when he saw her plush. "C'mon, Nat," he grinned. "You know the bad guys always crumble at the first sight of batted eyelashes and pouty lips."

Natasha narrowed her eyes, considering. "Sometimes they do, actually," she deadpanned. "But not usually in a firefight."

Clint had smiled while Tony griped in the background, "You know how hard it was to get a Black Widow plush at all? Pepper had to threaten to pull all licensing if they didn't! Asshole misogynists thought it wouldn't sell."

Of all the plushes in Lila's room, though, Hawkeye's was the most worn of the group. The string of the bow had been snapped and the individual plush arrows had been lost. It had lost some of the coloration around the middle as small hands gripped it at night.

Natasha picked that plush off the shelf and padded silently on bare feet to the master bedroom. She knocked quietly as she opened the door and entered.

Laura looked up as she lay in the bed leaning up against the headboard, her children's sleeping heads pooled in her lap. She was dressed in one of Clint's flannel shirts and it was big enough on her small frame and pregnant belly that it was tucked under the sheets with her legs. She had been gazing blankly out the window at the moon-filled night, her left hand absently rubbing at the collar of the flannel. Laura watched Natasha as she walked silently over to the bed and the two women locked eyes, brown on green-blue. "I hate this flannel," Laura said quietly, mindful of the sleeping children in her lap. "Who makes a plaid out of purple and brown-green? But he loved this shirt." She half-smiled sadly, tears coming to her eyes. "It still smells like him. Like trees and wind, bow oil and fletching." Natasha sat on the edge of the bed.

"I miss him, Nat," Laura said, a single tear sliding down her face. Natasha inhaled sharply as her chest tightened. "I always thought that if came to this ... his dangerous job ... that I would be more prepared. I would know what to do. I have a doctorate in psychology. I've profiled for the CIA, for fuck's sake." Her voice became more ragged as she sucked in a breath, tears streaming down her face. Natasha silently grabbed the tissue box on the bed stand and Laura ripped one out from the top. "I've read up on the studies. I've read the 'military mom' message boards. I read about the struggles and the adjustment." She paused to wipe her nose with her hand. "But I have two kids and another on the way! I don't have a partner to help me raise them. It scares them when I cry in front of them, so I can't fully grieve. But they need their mother so they can." She stared at Natasha again. "Their father is dead. They need their mother."

Natasha slid the plush version of Hawkeye under his daughter's sleeping arm. She sat, speechless. She could think of a hundred responses that she would tell a mark or contact she was trying to manipulate. But looking at her partner's widow, red-faced with her eyes streaming, she hesitated. Her instinct, her training, told her to strike at any vulnerabilities, but that thought sickened her. Instead, she broke eye contact.

"I want to tell you everything will be alright," Natasha said, her voice heavy. "But you and I both know it's going to be hard and it will never be the same. I won't tell you that it will be sunshine and rainbows. Life never is." Natasha's gaze flickered to the children, still sleeping in Laura's lap. "I didn't have a real family when I was a child. I was training at a very early age to do things children should never have to do." She brushed a strand of hair out of Lila's face. "But I know family when I see it. You and the kids are not in this alone. They have six aunts and uncles looking over them."

Laura smiled and smoothed the hair on Cooper's head. She toyed with the boot of the plush Hawkeye under her daughter's arm. "That's good to hear, Nat." She placed her hand over Nat's on the comforter. She stopped suddenly, eyes going wide and a smile springing to her face, taking her hand from her collar to place it on her belly. "He's kicking!" she whispered, grabbing Natasha's hand and placing in on her belly. Under her hand, Natasha felt an odd staccato beat, muffled yet insistent. Almost like a muscle spasm, it was a small but definitely shaped something pressing against her hand resting on Laura's belly. Natasha smiled suddenly at her namesake, a rush of joy rarely felt flooding her.

"Laura ..." she whispered, feeling the baby ... Nathaniel, she corrected herself ... kick once more before settling.

"He's been pretty quiet lately. I was starting to worry. I guess he knows he's safe with you guys around."

The presence on her hand disappeared, but Natasha kept it where it was, realizing that she missed the contact of the tiny, still-forming foot against her hand. She remained still before Laura cleared her throat softly, looking at her children.

"I don't know if you know this," Natasha looked up to meet Laura's eyes. "But I know about the time that you and Clint almost slept together."

Natasha stiffened, drawing her hand back suddenly as she snapped to her feet. She prepared to counter the allegations, or to beat a very hasty retreat and leave the farm behind her entirely before Laura grabbed her hand again. "I'm sorry, I should have introduced that topic more diplomatically," Laura said, her face remaining still, but there was a half-smile on her face and a certain smirk in her eyes that, in the back of her mind, reminded Natasha of Clint's when he was bantering with Stark.

"Laura, you should know that he turned me down."

Laura smiled this time and chuckled. "I know, Nat." She patted the comforter next to Lila. "Natasha, sit down. Relax. I've been meaning to talk to you about this for years."

Natasha sat, doing her best to appear comfortable but feeling off-balance inside. "Usually when I try to sleep with a man, his wife isn't so ... understanding?"

Laura smiled again. "Oh, don't get me wrong. I was pissed at the time. Clint talked me out of calling Nick and giving him an ear-full."

"Laura ..." Natasha began, leery of where the conversation was going.

"Nat, please let me finish. I'm no shrinking violet. I know what his job entailed. I met him doing profiling for SHIELD afterall." Laura grabbed the other woman's arm. "But I know you loved Clint. And he loved you. And that it was different and it didn't take away from what Clint and I had."

"I didn't know about you and the kids when ..." she trailed off.

"I know, Nat. Clint was sick about it for months. I married Clint, I had children with him, knowing he would be gone. That he would be put in tempting situations. But I wouldn't have married him if I didn't trust him and he never betrayed that trust. He stopped with you, Natasha. And he told me about it. That's what trust is. And that's why, when I met you, when I got to know you, and I saw the partnership you two had, I trusted you, too. I could think of no one I would have rather had watching his back than you."

Natasha looked at her, the uncomfortable prick of tears forming in her own eyes. "I'm still trying to internalize it, Laura. Eight years of partnership and he's just gone."

Laura nodded. "Every time you turn a corner, you still expect him to be there, right?" Laura whispered.

"Yeah. I can't imagine what it will be like on a mission without feeling him at my back. You said he smells like wind and feathers. To me, he smelled like blood and sweat and leather. He saved my life by bringing me in and too many times after. Together, we saved countless lives by taking select others." Natasha put her hand on Lila's back and felt the soft rise and fall of her breathing. Laura smiled, stroking her pregnant belly. "I should let you go. Let you get some sleep."

There was a thump from downstairs and then a muffled curse. Wanda's muted giggle filtered up the steps followed by what Natasha believed was Steve's patient, well-intentioned advice.

Laura smiled. "I think Pietro's finishing the paneling in the kitchen. Never a dull moment in the Barton household."

Natasha smiled as she left the room. "That, at least, will never change." She closed the door quietly behind her, padding back to Lila's room next door. Closing the door behind her, she changed into a pair of flannel pants and a loose t-shirt and slid under the royal purple comforter with only the soft sound of sliding fabric. She curled up on her side and stared vaguely at the window. A chill had come through the partially open window despite the heat of the day and it reminded her powerfully of a night over seven years ago.

She and Clint had been forced to spend it in a bare concrete hovel in the middle of the Sahara. The op had gone bad quick and Clint had to pull both of their asses out of the fire. It had been before Natasha had known that the Barton family even existed.

They had been partners for just over a year at that time. Fury had informed him that although he still was pissed with Clint for disobeying orders to kill the Black Widow, he'd be damned if the two of them weren't the finest Strike Team he'd ever had the privilege of commanding. For that reason, they would remain partners until further notice. That, he said, and that "no one else wants to work with you two and your crazy-ass ops."

The latest crazy-ass op has blown up in their face. The Black Widow had been pinned down, her position revealed by bad intel and Hawkeye had been forced to fight through a small arsenal in order to get to her. The flight from the compound afterwards was harried and adrenaline-filled and the vehicle they had stolen they had to abandon shortly thereafter when it ran out of fuel. The militia was no doubt still out looking for them in the desert, but their trail had been adequately concealed. The temperature in the desert was quickly dropping to near freezing and they had shit for shelter, sitting side-by-side leaning up against a concrete wall that still radiated some heat from the day, huddled up underneath a single emergency blanket in an attempt to conserve body heat. "I hate the Sahara," Clint had said. "It fries you during the day and freezes you at night. I don't know why anyone lives here."

"Look around you, Barton. You see anyone living here?" Natasha picked up Clint's arm and placed it over her shoulder, scooting closer to Clint and wrapping her arms around his torso in an effort to keep the chill away. Her breath came out frosted in the chilly air. "Besides," she said, "you're the one who told SHIELD we didn't need an extraction plan."

"We never need an extraction plan," he said pulling her closer as the temperature dropped as the moon rose. They had had to share each other's personal space on many missions over the last year. Getting close was simply standard operating procedure in these situations.

"We'll rest here for a few hours, then head northwest until it gets too hot to travel, then find somewhere to escape the heat," Clint said. Natasha nodded, not objecting to being pulled closer.

Ever since she had stared down the business end of one of Hawkeye's arrows and he made a different call, she found herself developing a deep respect for the sharpshooter. His skill and tactical abilities were obvious, but as she got to know him, his loyalty and integrity began to stand out.

She had also began to sense that in the last couple of months that mutual respect had developed into a mutual attraction. She had always admired his precision. But then she had begun to notice the corded muscle in his arms, the strong squareness of his back, and the crinkles at his eyes when he smiled. She had caught him staring at some of her attributes as well with a sniper's intensity.

Those eyes were staring at her with that same intensity, looking down on her in their huddle in the desert cold. The grey-blue of his eyes was particularly stormy as his gaze flicked from her eyes to her lips and back again. She reached up and traced a cut along the strong line of his jaw; the remaining blood was still slightly tacky. He swallowed and dragged the index finger of his free hand down the line of her neck, stepping at her carotid where a knife had been held. The man holding the knife had been pinning Natasha to the wall in an attempt to flush out the Hawk. Instead, he wound up with his knife in his own throat while the man's partner had acquired an arrow through the eyeball. Clint had seemed panicked when he finally caught up to her, checking her neck quickly before pulling her into a surprising and impromptu embrace.

Now, in the desert, Clint's thumb replaced his index finger on her neck, soft and caressing. Her eyes flicked to his lips as she looked at him. His thumb ran softly up and down her neck and her world dissolved to his thumb over her increasing pulse and the way their bodies fit together under the thin blanket. His arm tightened around her shoulders as she closed the gap between them.

Clint froze as their lips touched for the first time and Natasha felt her breathing increase suddenly. She deepened the kiss, pressing her upper body against his firm chest, fingers wrapping around the back of his neck.

"Natasha …" he whispered into her lips, suddenly returning and deepening the kiss. She allowed his hand to trail through her hair as the other trailed down her side to rest on her hip bone. She eased onto her back as he followed, laying against her on his side, deepening the kiss. Natasha felt her blood warm, her heart rate increase as he broke their kiss, moving his lips down her jaw to her neck.

"Clint …" she whispered, breath coming fast and feeling a familiar and welcome warmth spread through her, centering in her low abdomen. Her lips caught a hold of his earlobe and Clint gasped, shifting on top of her, propping his weight on his arms as her hands traveled across his chest and down the firm ridge of his abs. "God, Barton," she said to herself as she felt the taut muscles shift under her hands. This encounter was not going to be slow and languid, exploring and curious like so many first times with new lovers. This was going to be quick and hard, satiating the adrenaline still coursing through their systems from the near-miss earlier.

She suddenly wanted to feel him. Wanted to feel all of him and as soon as possible. She wrapped her flexible legs around his thighs and his hips settled against hers and she felt his not-surprising physical result of the arousing encounter between her legs. Smiling and pushing the kiss harder, her hand glided firmly lower down on his stomach to rest on his belt buckle, pulling at it impatiently.

In a flash, he was gone. His warm, firm, and very welcome weight had lifted off of her, leaving her cold and confused, her neck cooling quickly from where his lips had been. She opened her eyes and saw him pacing ten feet away, one hand running through his short hair and the other on his hip. He refused to meet her eyes as he paced, kicking up small sprays of sand.

"Something wrong?" she said, arching an eyebrow and rolling on to her side, fully aware of how that made her cleavage look in her tactical suit. Clint refused to look at her.

"Ah, Tasha, no," he said, clearly upset. "I can't do this. I really can't."

She quirked and eyebrow and smiled at him alluringly. "There didn't seem to be a problem five seconds ago," she said playfully. Clint visibly flinched at her words, quickening his pacing across the sand. "Yes, yes, there was. Is. I don't want to ..." he stopped suddenly, not intending to offend but warring with … was that guilt on his features?

"I mean," he continued, "it's not like I don't want to. I mean, any straight man would want …. " he gestured vaguely at her still spread out like a cat on the sand.

Natasha cocked an eyebrow. Clint sighed and looked down at the ground. "Dammit, Nat, I can't. We … we gotta keep it professional." The chill of the night air had begun to overcome the flush that had spread across her body.

"There are plenty of partnerships in our line of work that lead to sex, Clint. There was even a rumor of you and Coulson when I first joined SHIELD."

Clint stopped his pacing for a moment, looking over at her with surprise. "Really?"

"Yes, really. Sex doesn't have to affect the professional relationship. Or," she said, standing up and taking a step towards him, "it can actually help the partnership in the field. Look at Morse and Hunter."

He took a step back, hands up. "I can't, Nat. We need … " he paused and took a breath. "I need to keep this professional." He swallowed heavily.

She felt something shift-click in her perception as she internalized the change, though her disappointment was obvious. "Okay," she said, sitting back down in the sand. "We'll keep it professional even though it would be a shame." She drew the thin blanket over her shoulders. "Now get back over here and get under this blanket so we both don't freeze to death," she deadpanned.

Clint took another step back away from her and their makeshift campsite. His face crumbled with what looked like guilt and ... was that nausea? "I need to take a walk," he said.

"Clint, there still may be hostiles nearby. You know it's not advisable."

"I know that Natasha," he said firmly. "But it's too late, cold and dark for them to look, even if they don't think we died in the heat of the day." His eyes looked over both of his shoulders in all directions and he shivered. "But I need to clear my head. I'll stay within ear-shot and eye-shot."

Natasha nodded and watched, confused and concerned, as her partner nearly scrambled from their campsite and over a small dune. His reaction to their admittedly delightful activity baffled her. She had read his file and had overheard conversations about the Hawk. He was unattached. There were no known romantic relationships in his file despite working with many teams and individuals within the organization. He had a close relationship with Coulson, but not a romantic one. Hawkeye himself had always remained aloof.

He had clearly reacted positively to her advances, but something … perhaps an injury in the field? A trauma or association she had unknowingly triggered?

The distant sound of retching floated across the still and empty terrain and she stood to see her partner, true to his word, within both eye- and ear-shot, approximately 40 yards away from their campsite. She couldn't see the steam rise from the puddle of vomit, but she could see his stomach spasm as he retched again, emptying his meager stomach contents onto the sand. He then fell back to a seated position, knees up in front of him with his elbows against them, head propped at his hands. He stared resolutely at the sand between his knees.

Natasha did not pretend to understand what her partner was clearly experiencing at that moment. Instead, she stood at the top of the dune, watched for shifting shadows that might indicate a threat, and waited for her partner to come back to her.

She wouldn't understand her partner's reaction to their "almost moment" until four months later when, after another mission, he had somehow gotten clearance from Fury to take a Quinjet. He told her to pack for several weeks in late December and then dragged her aboard a Quinjet, just the two of them, no mission, promising her a real Christmas like he knew she had never had.

"I thought we were keeping this professional, Barton," she had teased as she settled into the co-pilot's seat.

Clint had flinched, clearly remembering their night in the Sahara and his face had gotten suddenly serious. "You know my history," he said as the plane leveled out from takeoff. She did know about his history. She knew about his abusive father, his battered mother and the alcoholism that wrapped their car around a tree and sent him and his brother to orphanages and foster homes. She knew about the unusual way he had garnered his skills and how his this same brother literally stabbed him in the back and left him for dead. It had made his peculiar loyalty all the more intriguing to her.

"That night in the Sahara was … I won't call it a mistake, Nat. I will call it too much adrenaline. I saw you through the window with a knife to your neck and I just knew I had to get to you. But because of my past, I refuse to do things that will hurt the ones I love."

Her reaction was immediate and absolute as much as it was dismissive. "Love is for children, Barton."

Natasha was again intrigued by his response, as he chuckled with a knowing smirk. "Love is for children, Natasha. And some select others, too."

She contemplated her partner's words as he flew, and they sat in companionable silence for the 90 minutes before he began the descent to wherever they were going. They landed in a snowy clearing, white rolling fields spread out before them with an old barn and farmhouse, already decorated for the holiday. Its windows glowed warm in the chilly night air and there was a wreath on the door. It looked like some kind of postcard. There was even a Christmas tree in the front bay windows.

As the two of them trudged down to the house through six inches of pristine, unbroken snow, she saw the front door open. A child of about four, barely more than a toddler, shot out, his small legs flying over the front porch and down the steps despite being bundled up tightly in a small green snow suit. Natasha's confusion resolved into amazement. The child slipped on the last step and fell spread-eagle and face-first into the snow. Clint barked in laughter, sprinting best he could through the white powder. As the boy pushed himself up and regained his footing, he tried to push through the snow red-faced and beaming. "Daddy!" he cried and it echoed over the snowy stillness.

A petite woman, only slightly taller than Natasha, stepped out of the door. Her brown hair was shoulder-length and she held in her arms a tightly wrapped bundle. She looked very tired but beamed as Clint reached the small boy, lifted him off his feet and tossed him in the air to peals of childlike laughter. Clint caught the boy easily and carried him, sack-like, over his shoulder to shrieks of enjoyment.

As they reached the porch, Natasha's eyes widened to see the woman with an infant, no older than three months, held tightly in her arms. Her mind mentally calculated. The Sahara had been four months ago.

Clint kissed the woman and then the infant in her arms, easily managing the squirming burden on his shoulder.

"Natasha Romanoff," Clint said, a wide, proud grin on his face, "meet Laura Barton."

Natasha refused to let her surprise show on her face. Nevertheless, she saw Clint stifle a grin when her eyes apparently widened anyway. "And this," he said gesturing to the still-wriggling sack of potatoes on his shoulder, "is Cooper. And this little peanut," he gestured to the child in Laura's arms, "is Lila."

Laura stepped forward and offered her hand politely, which Natasha shook carefully. She felt a strong need to apologize to this woman, to explain her actions. It must have shown on her face because Clint met her eyes over Laura's shoulder and mouthed "It's okay."

"There's no need to be tense here, Natasha," Laura said quietly, although her eyes betrayed a wariness and was that ... conflicted anger? "Anyone who has saved my husband's life is welcome in my home."

Natasha blinked again, gaze shifting from Laura to Clint and back again. Internally she was still attempting to adjust to the situation, but externally she smiled. "Thank you for the welcome," she replied.

Clint, shifting the still-giggling child from his shoulder, grabbed the boy's ankles tightly as he held him upside down, the ball of his tall winter cap swinging about two inches about the snow. The child again shrieked in laughter.

"I have never seen the Black Widow stunned into silence before, Hon," Clint laughed. "But c'mon. It's cold as hell out here. Let's get inside."

Natasha stood on the porch and watched the Bartons ... The Bartons?! ... go inside. She stayed motionless until both Clint and Laura turned, the glow of the warm house framing them in the doorway. "C'mon, Nat," Clint said, gesturing her inside.

Natasha nodded and stepped in to the warmth of the house, closing the door against the cold behind her.

Natasha's memory faded as she rested in Lila's room. She was surprised to find wetness on her cheeks. Then again, she had lost her partner, so it really shouldn't have surprised her that much. She heard another thump from downstairs. This time, Thor's chuckle had joined Wanda's, muted from his usual booming belly laugh. Natasha allowed herself a half-smile as she drew back the covers and slipped out of the small bed. Padding barefoot, she descended the steps silently, avoiding out of long practice the steps that squeaked and groaned.

Stepping around the corner into the kitchen, she saw Wanda, covering her mouth in an attempt to stifle her chuckle. Thor, red-faced and shoulders shaking, did the same. He was clearly losing the battle.

Steve and Tony, backs to Natasha, stood side-by-side, each leaning against the counter separating the living room and dining room. Steve's head was down and his eyes were closed but his smile was bright and indulgent. Tony had apparently found Clint's liquor stash, because was raising a glass swirling with brown liquid with bright eyes and a wicked smirk on his lips.

Padding further into the room, she saw Pietro. Pietro, sitting cross-legged in the center of the kitchen.

Pietro, with paneling half done in the kitchen, sawdust all over the floor and caulk gun in his hand.

Pietro, jerking said hand violently as it became clear to Natasha that he had managed the glue the caulk gun to his hand.

Pietro, a rueful expression on one half of his beet-red face and a large piece of paneling obscuring the other side. The paneling had also become glued to his face. It was encased in a red haze and it appeared that Wanda was attempting to remove it with her powers.

Natasha couldn't help it. She laughed in spite of herself. Out loud.

Five heads swiveled in her direction at the sound, and grins widened upon seeing her. Thor chuckled again, and again attempted to quiet the sound.

"Do I want to know ..." she trailed off. From behind her, she heard Laura descending the staircase.

Pietro looked both frustrated and sheepish at the same time. "I am fast," he said, his accent heavy. "That does not mean I am precise." Laura turned the corner, taking in the destruction of her kitchen.

"I'm sorry for your girlfriend, then," she deadpanned, eyebrow quirking up and arms crossing over her chest. There was a stunned silence around the kitchen before Tony actually laughed out loud.

"Seriously?! Did you just go there?" Tony said, grinning widely now. "That's the shit Clint would say."

Laura looked at him slyly. "Why do you think I married him?" Laura smiled.

Thor's laughter boomed out, but he was quickly shushed and reminded of the children sleeping upstairs. Steve's shoulders started shaking in laughter with Tony smirking around his drink.

"So, tell me this, Quickie," Tony smirked at Pietro while Laura laughed. "Do you heal as fast as you move?" He stepped around the counter, hands reaching for the paneling stuck to Pietro's cheek.

Pietro was up and backed up across the kitchen in a blue blur. "Oh no, Stark. No way."

Steve then stepped forward, approaching Pietro with a smirk on his face. "Maybe if I tried ..." he said, reaching for the paneling. Wanda giggled.

Pietro backed up another step and ran into the refrigerator. "Not a chance, Captain," he said, grinning lopsidedly before streaking out in the backyard through the sunroom in a blue-white blur.

Wanda laughed. "He will be back soon," she said, smiling. "He's very impatient."

Laura opened up a side cabinet, pulling out a roll of gauze and a bottle of acetone nail polish remover, placing them on the counter. "For when Pietro gets back," she said. Tony grinned, impressed, while Thor simply looked confused. "You think Pietro is the first man in this house to accidentally glue something to himself? Clint used to do it at least once per project." She smiled, eyes tired but mischievous.

"Oh, I like you!" Thor boomed, smiling widely. He flinched at the chorus of shushes immediately following.

Laura opened the fridge, taking out a beer for each of the Avengers, placing one aside for Pietro. She grabbed a seltzer for herself. Pietro slunk back into the kitchen through the front door, closing it quietly behind him. "Come here," she said, patting a chair at the dining room table. She ripped off a piece of gauze and saturated it in some of the acetone. Pietro sat obediantly as Laura fussed over him. Natasha smirked, walking up next to Steve and just barely leaning into his broad shoulder. He smiled down at her, shifting to lean just slightly into her.

"This won't tear us apart," he said quietly so that only she could hear.

"No, it won't," she agreed, equally as quietly.

"He will not be forgotten. We will figure out some way to make sure everybody knows and understands," Steve said.

"Yes we will."

Silence passed between them as they watched the paneling peel back, inch by inch, from Pietro's face. Wanda danced around him, using her powers to pry it away as the acetone ate away at the glue. Thor's face was covered in mirth, eyes dancing and huge hand covering his mouth, his face red from suppressed laughter. Tony's arms were crossed over his chest, his drink on the counter, offering sarcastic and unhelpful pointers as Pietro scowled. Laura was smiling, shooting playful glares in Tony's direction as she poured more acetone on the gauze.

"I miss him," Natasha said unexpectedly, her voice soft.

Steve nodded. "I do, too," he said, voice choked with emotion. She glanced at him and he met her eyes. "I'm sick of losing friends," he whispered, eyes wet and heavy.

She nodded, finding her own chest tighten. "Losing friends is part of our business," she said quietly. "I just always thought I would go before Clint. Perhaps remembering keeps us moving forward." Steve looked at her strangely, as if contemplating something.

Their attention was diverted from their conversation when, after a final crimson yank, the paneling came free from Pietro's face. Thor gave a shot of victory before being smacked in the chest for being too loud by Tony, who picked up his glass and toasted "Quickie's" new-found freedom. Wanda cheered quietly and hugged her brother. Natasha smirked and golf-clapped with a raised eyebrow.

Clint would have loved this, Natasha realized. He would have loved pelting Pietro with pieces of food until Pietro finally broke into a smile. She could see Clint sliding up next to Laura, slipping an arm around Laura's waist and throwing a smirk and a wink in her direction.

He would have loved this, she thought. It wasn't until Steve glanced down at her in surprise that she realized she had said it out loud. Steve smiled sadly, but one that was full of hope. He nodded once, his eyes never leaving the scene.

The put-out look on Pietro's face, now bright pink but at least without the paneling, was making Laura giggle. It wasn't a foreign sound to Natasha's ears, but it was to Steve's and his brow furrowed in confusion. "She used to laugh a lot," Natasha said quietly.

Steve nodded. "I'm glad she laughing now. It's nice to hear."

Natasha's lips quirked upward in a grin"I may have told Laura that Cooper and Lila now have many more aunts and uncles to deal with," Natasha admitted.

Steve nodded once with finality. "Those kids aren't going to know what happened." A sly grin spread along his face. "They're never going to see it coming."

TBC