A/N: 2013 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful and talented ladygris.

Cast:

Clint Barton/Clint Lockhart

Natasha Romanoff/Natasha Lockhart

Ainsley McKenna

Griselda Campbell, proprietress of the Drunken Lance Tavern and Inn

Tavish Campbell, proprietor of the Drunken Lance Tavern and Inn

Del, makes knives, swords, etc.

Aileen, works for Griselda

Dolina, works for Griselda

Macduff, stables

Unnamed boy, stable hand

Avengers

Between Past and Present

Chapter 12

The voices of the crowd faded, replaced by a ringing and dizziness in Natasha's ears that drown out everything other sound so that all she heard were the bells and Ainsley's voice repeating one of Clint's favorite phrases. She was jostled by people trying to get past though she barely felt it. After a while, her hearing returned and with it, the ability to move. She had to find Clint.

Pushing her way through the crowd, she raced for the inn. As she passed the stables, she heard Clint's voice, changed direction, skidding to a stop in the doorway of Roscoe's stall. He dropped the brush and rushed to her.

~~O~~

Clint waved to Macduff as he led Roscoe into his stall. A young boy came running with the tools necessary to groom the beast, and Clint sent him on his way saying he'd do it himself. The boy seemed disappointed so he gave him a coin. The boy thanked him and ran to bring fresh hay and water to keep Roscoe happy while Clint removed the bridle and brushed him. He was just getting to the tail when Natasha's voice called out to him. And for one of the few times since he'd known her, she sounded excited to the point of breathlessness.

She stumbled into the stall gripping his arms, nails digging into his biceps. "Clint!"

"Nat, calm down and talk to me." The creak of a stall door opening reminded them that they weren't alone so Clint switched to Russian. "What's going on?"

Taking a deep breath, she got herself under control well enough to speak. "Our daughter! I've found her! But she's not five, Clint. She's older. Eleven or twelve."

"What?!" His stomach to flip over and his breathing, stalled for a moment then returned. "Dammit it to hell! This is Selvig's fault!"

"Does it really matter, Clint? We're here. She's here."

Clint embraced her and they held each other tight. After a long while, they separated. "I have to see her."

Taking his hand, Natasha led him to the square, looking around and pointing. "There."

As he stared at the young girl, she got to her feet, swung one leg then the other over the railing and climbed down to the ground with a nimbleness that was uncanny. "That's the girl from the other day. Ainsley something." Clint rubbed both hands down his face, pacing restlessly two steps away and back. "Oh, God! We talked for over almost two hours! How could I not see it?"

Natasha massaged her forehead as if a headache were coming on. "You couldn't have known. We've been looking for a little girl, not a young woman."

"Seven years, Nat. Selvig's calculations were off by seven years. All this time we've been looking in the wrong ******* place." Clint slammed a fist into the fence. "When we get back, I'm gonna knock his ******* head off!"

He simmered in his own bile for a while then said, "Now that we know it's her, I can see it. The only way to be absolutely certain is to do a DNA test. But how do we…"

Natasha made a small gasp, again squeezing his arm. "Blood. She was injured and I treated the wound." Breaking away from him, Natasha ran back to the inn, and he followed. Inside, they both slowed down so as not to alarm Griselda and the girls. Clint stayed with Natasha all the way to the laundry area where she snatched up several pieces of blood stained cloth.

She hurried up the stairs, and Clint stayed with her. He wasn't sure why. It would take several hours to get the results. On television and in the movies, to increase the drama, writers gave forty-eight hours as the quickest DNA results would come back. The tech developed by SHIELD R&D could do the job in much less time. Hours were better than days, but still too long for Clint.

While Natasha started the sequencing, Clint paced, snapping his fingers and huffing every few seconds until his partner stuck her foot out and tripped him. "Why don't you go take a bath?"

"I'm good." A snort stopped him in his tracks. "What?"

"You smell like sweaty horse."

Lifting his arm, Clint gave himself a good sniff. Phew! She's right. Out loud, he said, "You don't like my new after shave?"

"No," she stated unequivocally.

Going to the dresser, he took out clean clothes. "You know, I get that communal baths are their thing, but I'd really rather not share a tub with a bunch of hairy men."

Crossing her arms, she pursed her lips. "Are you seriously going to tell me you've never showered or taken a bath with a woman before?"

"No. I mean yes, I have. But it's not the same." Clint's hands moved through the air as if caressing an invisible form. "Women are all soft, delectable curves. And men aren't." He shuddered and Natasha chuckled at the look of mock horror.

Going to his side, she held his hand and smiled. "Go get cleaned up, and when you come back we'll get something to eat."

"Okay. Suddenly, I'm starving." An opportunity presented itself and Clint took it by swooping down and claiming a kiss. For once, Natasha didn't call him a name or scowl. She just stared at him as he closed the door.

~~O~~

Alone in the room, Natasha was becoming more and more anxious, pacing and wishing everything hadn't gone sideways yet again. To calm herself, she stood in the open area at the foot of the bed, inhaled deeply and let it out, going immediately into a tai chi routine. Her mind had been soothed to the point where she didn't want to hit something then, the door opened. She whipped around, her left hand balled into a fist. Clint dodged to the side, the blow narrowly missing his head.

"Kokogo chyorta?! It's just me, Nat."

"Izvinite. Still a little…" she shrugged sheepishly. Tossing his dirty clothes on a chair, Clint tried to hug her. Though he'd returned, all clean and sweet smelling, she couldn't bear to be touched just yet. With the analyzer was still working she was finding it hard not to agonize over the fact that she'd actually touched her daughter, tended her wound. "Ready to eat?"

"Yeah." He dropped a bag on the foot of the bed, opened it and started pulling cloth wrapped items out, setting them on the desk. "Griselda made us sandwiches."

Picking up the chunks of bread with slabs of meat between then, Natasha took a bite and chewed. As soon as the first bit hit her stomach, she realized how hungry she was. Across from her, Clint was eating like he'd been on a hunger strike for a week. He noticed her watching, again giving her a sheepish shrug. They finished eating in silence, eyes on the analyzer. The device would beep when it was done, but that was still a few hours away.

"You know, watching it won't make it finish any faster."

She glanced up at him then back to the device. "Can't help it."

Clint reached across to hold her hand. "Nat, Annabelle is alive and we found her. That thing is just gonna prove what we already know. Ainsley McKenna is our daughter."

She pulled her hand away and put it in her lap with the other one. "We have to talk to her parents. Her adoptive parents. Have them break it to her that she's coming with us."

"Right. They've brought her up as their own. It wouldn't be fair for us to just swoop in and take her away." She began drumming her fingers on the table top while Clint cleaned up the remains of their meal. Then, a thought occurred to her. "Clint, what if Mr. and Mrs. McKenna refuse to tell Ainsley the truth? Or what if they tell her, but won't let her come with us? This isn't the twenty-first century. We can't sue for custody."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it." Yawning and scratching his stomach, Clint reached down to take off his boots, his expression changing to annoyance for no reason she could discern. Shaking head, he stuck a finger in one ear and wiggled it. When he saw her looking, he stopped and stood up. "I'm gonna take a nap. Wake me when that thing's done."

"I will. While you do that, I'll…"

Flopping onto the bed, he grinned and winked. "You could take a nap with me."

He patted the bed in invitation, and after that heavy meal, she was a little tired. She removed her boots and belt, and lay down next to him. At his urging, she snuggled against his side and closed her eyes.

~~O~~

"Ainsley McKenna! Get ye down from there this instant!" Edeen McKenna called out to her youngest child. The girl was always climbing. Trees, the barn, the outside of buildings in the village. And no matter how high she climbed, there was always one more branch, one more hill, one more mountain to scale. The child had done it from the day she arrived at their home. The first time Edeen had found her on top of the wardrobe, she'd panicked, afraid that she'd fall. But she never did. Not once. After a while, the family got used to it as did everyone who knew her. In fact, everything she did seemed to come easy to her whether it was the bow or reading or even cooking, though she frequently voiced her dislike of food preparation.

Another thing that puzzled Edeen was the pictures she drew. Outlandish and bizarre things that flew through the air and wagons that didn't need horses to move them. Edeen snorted to herself while waiting for a customer to decide on which of Brendan's wood carvings would suit her best.

And there were the strange words she sometimes used. Malyshka, Pápochka, and the name she called the stuffed toy, ZAychik.

The girl huffed and climbed down from where she'd been sitting for most of the day. "Aye. I'm comin'." She finished by sliding down the bannister of the rail from the second floor to the first, jumping off the end and landing solidly on both feet.

Edeen put her arm around Ainsley's shoulders. "It's time we were gettin' home. Winifred's makin' supper 'n yer brother's been tending the animals and the fields alone. He'll be wantin' t' get home t' Cristie 'n George soon."

Ainsley fingered the scratch on her forehead, and Edeen scowled. "Dinnae Mistress Lockhart tell ye t' have a care?"

"Aye, but is hurts some," she whined as only a pre-teen could.

"Ye'll be fine, love. Let's get the wagon loaded 'n we'll let ye take charge on th' ride home."

Ainsley's face lit up with excitement as she scampered ahead to the stall calling out for her father to hurry. Shaking her head, Edeen followed at a more sedate pace thinking about the odd look that Mistress Lockhart had given Ainsley before they left the inn, wondering what it meant.

~~O~~

Beep-beep-beep. Beep-beep-beep.

Clint vaulted off the bed jostling Natasha awake. Rolling off the side, she joined him at the desk. "What's it say?"

He'd picked it up, but hadn't powered up the display. "I'm almost afraid to look."

"I'm not. Give it here." Snatching the device from him, Natasha touched the power button and a small display lit up.

Holding it so he could see, they read the results together, Clint announcing loudly, "Yes! It's a match!"

They hugged and Natasha couldn't stop the few tears that rolled down her cheeks. Clutching handfuls of his shirt, she held on tight, startled when Clint released her suddenly.

"Let's go to their stall and talk to them now. That way they'll have a day or so to get used to the idea and speak to Ainsley."

A few minutes later they were staring at the empty stall where the McKenna family sold their wares. Disappointed but not disheartened, the partners made several casual inquiries as to the location of the McKenna farm before taking a long walk back to the inn. They stopped in the kitchen to tell Griselda and Tavish that they'd finally gotten a lead on where their daughter might be and would be leaving in the next day or so to travel to another village.

Emotionally drained from the excitement of the day, they returned to their room where Clint removed his knives and boots. Standing by the side of the bed, he rubbed his hands through his hair then grabbed Natasha's hand as she paced by. Bringing that hand to his lips, he kissed the fingers, while his free hand brushed the hair from where it stuck to her cheek. That same hand slid around the back of her neck to urge her close. Before she could back off, his lips touched hers. Soft and gentle, no intrusion, no demands. Just letting her know that he cared. She eased away, her eyes meeting his. He smiled, his eyebrows wiggling. "Nat, remember at the camp when I turned you down?"

"Yes."

That mischievous grin was back. "I was just thinking. We had a late lunch and a nap. Supper isn't until after dark." He nodded at the bed. "Want to, uh…"

He still held her right hand leaving her left free to touch his cheek lightly with her fingertips. "I feel a little grungy. I'll go take a quick bath and be right back."

Nodding, he kissed her hand again and released her, the bed creaking as he lay down to wait, hands laced behind his head.

~~O~~

Natasha listened to Clint moving around the room. He was restless and she didn't blame him for being so. She would be in his place. And frustrated that they hadn't' been able to speak to the McKennas tonight instead of tomorrow. She went down the hall to the bathroom to freshen up for their first night of real intimacy. The last thing she did was brush her hair, the waves bouncing against her upper back and shoulders. Clint had once said he liked her hair long and wondered if subconsciously that was the reason she hadn't cut it. Returning to the room, she smiled and opened the door, say brightly, "Okay, big fella. Get ready for…"

Her mouth dropped open at being greeted by a snore that was quickly followed by another and another. The poor guy had to be exhausted after the day he had and tomorrow would be more of the same. Resigning herself to not getting any sex tonight, Natasha crawled under the covers and spooned against Clint's back. There was a momentary halt in the snoring then it continued unabated, the vibrations eventually lulling her to sleep.

~~O~~

Sunlight streamed through the window catching Clint on the back of his head. The warmth chased away most of the cobwebs of sleep. Rubbing his eyes and yawning removed the rest, and what he remembered stopped just after Natasha had gone to bathe. After that, nothing until just now. He was pressed up against her back and she was still peacefully sleeping.

When the final reboot of his brain had completed, he remember what the two of them had planned for the evening. With a hefty amount of dread, he lifted the covers relieved to see that they were both dressed. Then, Natasha surprised him by saying, "No, we didn't."

He dropped a kiss on the back of her neck. "Should I be relieved or afraid for my life?"

She rolled over to face him, their noses barely an inch apart. "Neither. We both needed sleep."

A slow smiled turned up the corners of his mouth. "Now that we're rested…"

Before he could finish, Natasha swooped in and kissed him on the mouth. It started out as a way to stop him from talking then changed into a feverish battle for dominance. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he rolled, bringing her across his chest. One hand skimmed around her waist and slid up under the back of the nightdress she wore in place of pajamas, over her bare backside, the dip in the small of her back and the ridges of her spine to the nape of her neck, bringing her even closer.

There was a knock on the door. Separating their mouths, Natasha called out, "Aye?"

Dolina's voice came through slightly muffled but understandable. "Good morrow, Mistress Lockhart. Mistress Campbell asked me t' wake ye due t' ye wished t' help with th' cookin' 'n such."

"Thank you. I'll be down presently."

"Aye, Miss."

Clint Listened to the girl's footsteps fade then indulged himself in one of his favorite hobbies: swearing. "S***! That means Tavish will around to roust my ass out of bed too."

The padding of Natasha's bare feet on the rug accompanied her trek around the end of the bed to the dresser where she kept her clothes. Pulling them out, she hurriedly dressed, flipping her hair from inside the collar. "Sorry. I forgot Griselda asked for help. Maidie is marrying at the tournament so today's her last as a working stiff."

"I thought they'd done away with arranged marriages."

Natasha gathered up her clothes, turning her back to change. "They have. Maida and her young man have been betrothed for almost a year."

Bringing his knees up, Clint lay his elbows on them, the sheet still covering him to the waist. "You know, it really sucks."

"I know, and I'm sorry we didn't…"

"That sucks too. I meant the part about women not being able to work after they're married."

Sitting on the side of the bed to put on her boots, Natasha agreed with him. "True, but you have to remember that many people died from disease and war. A woman's main function was to get married at a very young age in order to produce as many children as possible before her reproduction potential reached its natural conclusion."

He poked her in the back. "You sound like Selvig, boiling everything down to the numbers."

"So becoming emotional about a situation you can't change helps how?" Getting to her feet again, Natasha put on her belt, tightening it around her narrow waist.

"All I'm saying is…never mind." Jumping off the bed, he reached for his pants. "I'm gonna speak to Tavish about the McKennas, see what I can find out about the kind of people they are and how they've treated Anna-Ainsley."

Using a strip of leather, Natasha tied her hair back then sat down to put her boots on. "I wish we'd found out a few days ago. It's only thirty-two hours 'till we go home. Not much time to take in the fact that she's adopted and her parents traveled more than three hundred-fifty years into the past to find her."

"That would be a lot to take in even if she were an adult."

Hours later, Natasha was in the garden out in back of the inn. Something about digging in the loamy soil, covered in sweat and her knees aching provided a different sort of satisfaction than she received from putting the bad guys in prison or tricking someone into giving her anything she wanted.

Sitting back on her heels, Natasha brushed away the hairs sticking to her face and stood, stretching her sore back. The basket at her feet had been filled with the fresh herbs she picked. In the kitchen, she left it with Dolina. "Griselda?"

"Aye?"

"Could we speak alone please?"

The older woman led the way to her private rooms she shared with her husband. She must've seen something on Natasha's face because she touched her gently on the shoulder. "What is it, love? Are ye and Clint havin' a bit of a kerfuffle?"

"Nothing like that. I just wanted ye t' know that we've some news about our Annabelle."

Concerned, Griselda offered Natasha a seat but she remained standing. "What sort o' news?"

"Good, I hope. There's a chance that she's with a family in Laomainn."

"Praise be!" She clasped her hands together. "Tavish 'n me, we'll go t' the chapel 'n say a prayer for ye." Bustling down the hall, Griselda spoke over her shoulder. "The lasses 'n me will fix ye food fer th' trip. Anything else ye'll be needin'?"

"Just the wagon, if ye don't mind."

Griselda packed food into a bag and handed it to Natasha, gathering her into an impulsive hug. "The blessings of God on ye 'n yer wee lamb, Natasha."

"Thank ye, Griselda. We appreciate yer kindness these past few days. We've not had much o' that in our travels." No kidding!

Natasha left Griselda, Dolina and Aileen to their chores and returned to the room.

~~O~~

Tightening the drawstring, Clint dropped the sack filled with his belongings next to his partner's. All they were taking back to the future with them was what they'd brought. "You ready?"

Shrugging, he picked up the knife he'd gotten from Del, turning it over and over then resolutely set it on the dresser. "As I'll ever be. Think this'll work?"

Natasha settled the strap on her shoulder purposely speaking slowly and distinctly for his benefit. "I don't know. But we have to try."

She got a sad and faraway look in her eyes. He went to her side, wrapping his arm around her. "What's wrong?"

"I just can't help thinking what if…"

Turning her to face him, Clint looked into her eyes. "Don't. Let's get going. Tavish said we could use the wagon. Just before we leave, we'll turn the horses loose and they'll find their way home."

Nodding, Natasha led the way downstairs and out to the barn on the side of the tavern. They climbed up, Clint taking the reins. The archer tried to relax and enjoy the ride until they got outside of town where he pulled off the side of the road and took out the map of the area that Tavish had given him, unrolling it across their laps. "So the farm we're looking for isn't far from the loch."

"We take this road," Natasha ran her finger along a wide, twisty line, "to a grove of silver birch."

Clint agreed with Natasha's opinion. "If the map's to scale, the farm is maybe five miles down once we get off the main drag."

"Shouldn't take long to get there." A rider on a horse came toward them from the other direction. Clint nodded as the man went by, and the man tipped his hat to Natasha.

Clint liked the slower, more peaceful pace away from the hustle and bustle of New York, but he also missed the city…and the technology. The neighborhood he lived in was relatively safe. Well, once it was known that, if anyone messed with Clint's friends and neighbors, he'd kick their asses. A few brave souls had tested the theory and wound up either in the ER, in jail or both.

Eventually, the word got around and things got better. He also let it be known that just because they couldn't see him didn't mean he didn't know and wouldn't take appropriate action if they were behaving uncivilized. Here in the late 1600s, their time had been mostly trouble free, but he still missed the big city and was more than ready to get back. Again, Natasha touched him on the arm bringing him out of his woolgathering. "Hmm?"

"Where'd you go?"

He could've lied, but chose the truth for once. "Home. Did I leave the iron plugged in, turn off the gas, stop the paper, have mail held, put the dog in a kennel?"

Snorting, Natasha took the reins from his lax fingers. "Better let me drive. Home, I believe. But, you never iron, your apartment is all electric, you don't get the paper, your mail is automatically forwarded when on a mission and you don't have a dog."

"I was thinking of getting a dog. You know, for Annabelle."

"She likes cats. Or did." They rode in silence until the turn came up. "We'll be there soon. If Edeen and Gavin don't believe our story, stay calm."

Clint rubbed the back of his neck, stopping to stare at her in disbelief. "You do know who you're talking to, right?"

"Yes. So I repeat, stay calm. We can't force them to trust that what we're telling them is the truth. It's a fantastic story, even to you and me. It'll be even more so to them so behave."

"I promise to try."

Natasha steered the wagon over to the side so another larger one could pass. The couple in the driver's seat nodded as they passed. "There's the turn."

She made the turn as if she'd been driving a horse and buggy all her life, but didn't say another word until they arrived at the McKenna home. The closer they got the more tense she became until he could feel it as if it were himself. Maybe it was. He thought he was relaxed, but he could be mistaken. Probably was. No, he was twitchy alright. And the ringing in his ears didn't help. "This feels like an ambush. For them, not for us."

Bringing the horse to a stop near the one already parked in front of the house, Clint had a moment of ironic reflection that things haven't changed all that much. Guests sill parked in front of the house, knocked to announce themselves, and wiped their feet before stepping inside.

Clint jumped down, circled around the back of the cart to help Natasha, but she'd already done the job herself. She makes it hard for me to be a gentleman sometimes. They headed for the front door, Natasha stopping him by holding up her hand. "I hear voices."

Glancing around, Clint spied the older daughter sitting on a stump with a young man. From the way they looked at each other it was apparent that he was the girl's boyfriend or fiancé. He wished them well and pretended he hadn't seen them kissing.

Naturally that led him to contemplate the day when Annabelle would start dating. If Clint had his way, it wouldn't happen until he was dead. But because it wasn't practical, he began planning how to intimidate the boys that came to pick her up.

Another thought brought him to a screeching halt. What if the McKenna's believed their story then left the decision up to Annabelle and she decided to stay? Could he respect that decision? After a millisecond of cogitation, he realized that he wouldn't have a choice. And neither would Natasha. A glance at her face dappled by the sun through the leaves and he knew they were on the same page. Lifting his hand, he knocked on the door. Footsteps announced someone coming and a moment later, Edeen smiled at them. "Och, this is a surprise. Please come in."

The agents wiped their feet and stepped inside so the door could be closed. Edeen led them to the main room. In the twenty-first century, it would be a combination living room, dining room and kitchen. Doors leading off the far side most likely opened onto bedrooms. In this century, the children all shared a room. Boy and girls. Clint didn't approve, but it wasn't his place to tell these people how to conduct their society.

"Mistress McKenna, this is my husband, Clint. Clint, this is Ainsley's mother, Edeen." Their hostess offered them seats, Clint waiting until their hostess was seated.

Smiling, Edeen said, "I'm glad you've come, Mistress Lockhart. Gavin 'n I can't thank ye enough for tendin' to our girl. She's our youngest, 'n soon will be th' only child still at home, once Winifred 'n Adam are wed. Th' lad's already buildin' their home on a corner o' his da's land."

"Please call us Clint 'n Natasha, Edeen. And congratulations to both families. I'm sure they'll be very happy."

"Aye. It's much different for them than Gavin 'n myself. We'd known each other all our lives 'n God blessed us in that we found love together before th' betrothal when we were but thirteen. Since th' allied clans abolished arranged marriages, th' young ones have been happier when th' time comes t' them."

~~O~~

Natasha's hand sought out Clint's, holding tight hoping the simple gesture would tell him what she wasn't able to say. Edeen saw and Natasha was relieved to see she wasn't offended by the small show of affection. "It's the same for us. Where we grew up, our king, as a young prince, was th' first t' refuse t' be forced into a marriage that neither he nor his betrothed wanted. The clans agreed 'n that same year, himself met 'n married a lass from one o' th' clans."

Releasing Natasha's hand, Clint shifted in his seat. "I suppose you're wondering why we've come…"

"Mum!" Ainsley's voice called out from the room with the door standing ajar. Then, it swung wider as she rushed into the room, stumbling to a stop when she saw they had company. "Clint, Mistress Lockhart. Mum dinnae say ye were comin'."

Edeen put her arm around Ainsley and pulled her close. "That's 'cause I dinnae know they were comin', love. What were ye callin' for?"

Ainsley looked at Clint and Natasha then back at her mother, obviously embarrassed. With her voice very soft, she said, "It's nae important."

With loving patience, Edeen said, "Then go t' yer room 'n do yer stitchin'. I'll be in soon."

"Aye, Mum." The front door opened to admit Gavin. He stomped the dirt from his boots while using his hat to knock dust from his clothing before stepping inside. Gavin hung his hat on a peg beside the door with the others. "Da!"

The girl threw herself into Gavin's arms heedless of the dust and smell. "Evenin', love. Now go 'n do as Mum says."

And like any teen or pre-teen, Ainsley rolled her eyes. Kissing the top of the girl's head, he smiled affectionately at the red-haired girl. "Love ya, lassy."

"Love ya too, Da." She kissed Edeen on the cheek, whispering, "Love ye, Mum," before running into her room and slamming the door. Gavin was greeted by and introduced to their guests, with an explanation how they met. He shook Clint's hand and nodded to Natasha. "So, what brings ye t' our home on this fine evenin'?"

"The reason we came t' Laomainn was t' search for our daughter, taken from us several years ago."

Gavin's face darkened with anger on their behalf. "May they burn in hell." He shifted in his seat, obviously tired from the day's labors. "How can we help?"

That was just the opening Natasha had hoped for, and she let Clint handle this part alone as the McKenna's would expect. His expression and demeanor were suitably grave. "We know where she is."

TBC