Steve shouldered most of Clint's weight and half-carried him back into the tower. They got onto the elevator, exhaustion leaching through their bodies, and rode it slowly through the floors until they got to the one that held Clint's quarters. Steve carried Clint down the hall, to his door, and they stopped outside, Clint swaying a little on his feet.
The mission had been a shitfight.
It had been a daring rescue mission on Steve's part - getting into the compound, freeing Clint and Daisy, carrying Rachel back to the safety of the jet. He was still standing there in his bloodstained uniform, supporting Clint. It had been a mess to get out of, but they had all made it out - not all in one piece, but all alive, blessedly, thankfully alive. The kidnapped girl, Catalina, had been returned to her family by Agent Morales, and they had all congratulated her on a job well done. Rachel had been rushed to medical, and was still in surgery, as far as Steve knew. Daisy had gone back to base to write up a mission report, covered head to toe in bruises and scrapes, and Clint - well, Clint was pretty beat up. He slumped against Steve with a groan and rubbed his forehead, staring at his door like he could will it open.
"You okay?" Steve asked. Clint nodded, slowly.
"I'm fine," he said, his voice hoarse. "My arm's killing me, but we're home, right? We made it home for Christmas."
They had, in fact, made it home for Christmas. It was three o'clock on Christmas morning, but they were going to get up in a couple of hours and join the whole team for their Christmas festivities. Steve couldn't wait to get to his bed and fall fast asleep, or as asleep as his mind would be willing to let him, and he knew Clint felt the same. Clint reached forward and twisted the knob, letting the door swing open, and took a step away from Steve's embrace.
"You're sure you're okay?" Steve asked, watching as Clint, unsteady on his feet, felt around for the light switch. Clint nodded, mumbling something about the pain, and made his way inside. Steve followed, if only to make sure Clint actually made it to bed without collapsing.
Clint wandered deeper into his room, and froze when he realised his bed wasn't empty. Natasha was laying there, in a fitful sleep, a frown crossing her face every so often. Clint stopped to watch her, his face carefully blank from what Steve could see, but they both knew his gaze had softened when he caught sight of her.
"I'll leave you to it," Steve said, knowing when he wasn't wanted, and he made his way out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Clint walked over to the bed and sat on the end, watching Natasha quietly. Her eyes snapped open and she sat up, reaching for her weapon, but her gaze slowly softened as she caught sight of him. Wordlessly, he reached out with his good hand and took her hand in his, squeezing gently, and she squeezed back. It was what passed for a hug between the two of them.
"You didn't die," she said.
"It sure don't feel that way," Clint replied. She reached up and touched his swollen eye, the mess of purple bruising underneath it. He had a busted nose, with a bit of tape over it and dried blood crusted to one nostril. They'd cleaned him up as best they could in the back of the jet, but he still felt grimy, like he'd been in a bar fight and left in an alleyway somewhere. Next, she touched his bad hand, the one wrapped tight in a bandage. When they'd restrained him, they had twisted his arms up behind his back, and he'd felt the ligament snap like a bowstring before they'd even finished roughing him up. It had left his arm an ugly violet, mottled blue and black around the edges, and completely useless to do anything with. His quiver and bow were abandoned in the jet, because he had no use for them right now - there was no way he could draw the string with his arm like this. He was in for a world of pain and a couple of weeks to heal at least, and probably some physical therapy to boot. He ached, every part of him, from head to toe. But at least he'd made it home. At least he'd made it back to Natasha.
"Come to bed," Natasha said, laying back down, her red hair splayed across the pillow like a spray of blood. Clint stood and unzipped his combat suit, letting it fall away, and crossed the room to his dresser. He left the suit in a heap on the floor, where he could deal with it come morning, and quietly dressed himself in a singlet and tracksuit pants, struggling a little with his injured arm to pull everything on. He got there in the end, though, and climbed in bed beside Natasha, closing his eyes and listening to the deep, even sound of her breathing.
"Merry Christmas, Nat," he murmured.
"Merry Christmas," she whispered back, and they both settled into an uneasy sleep, but easier now they were together again.
They woke a few hours later to sunlight streaming in through the curtains. Clint cursed at having an east-facing room - not for the first time - and pulled the covers over his head, wincing as the movement hurt his arm. Natasha, on the other hand, was wide awake. She rolled over to face him with a smile.
"Good morning," she said.
"Morning," Clint grunted in reply.
They stared at each other a few moments before Tasha broke the silence by saying, "It's Christmas."
"It sure is," Clint replied.
"I'm glad you made it back," Natasha said with a surprising candor, pressing her forehead against his. Clint closed his eyes, appreciating the gesture for a moment, before they both pulled away.
"We should head downstairs," Clint said. "See if anyone else is awake."
Natasha only gave him a sly smile, and kicked off the covers, stepping out of bed carefully. She slipped on her ballet flats that were by the door, already dressed in yoga pants and a dark t-shirt. Clint laid back on his pillow with a quiet groan, knowing that if he was going to get up and go downstairs, he should probably be a little better dressed than tracksuit pants and a singlet.
He moved to get up and his right arm twinged in protest, and he remembered the days beforehand, the feeling of being trapped in a cell with your teammate bleeding out beside you. He froze, struggling to take deep, even breaths, until Natasha came to stand beside him, resting one gentle hand against his lower back.
"Breathe, Barton," she reminded him, so he did. The feeling passed. Clint decided getting changed into his real grown up clothes could wait.
"Just need a minute," Clint said, going into the bathroom. He stared at his reflection for a moment, the black eyes, the bend in his swollen nose. He splashed some water on his face and winced when it hit, but he used it to wipe away the dried blood, to remove the crusting of red from under his nostrils and above his left eye, leaving in its place a clean cut that had probably needed more than the butterfly closure holding it in place. Clint shrugged and made his way back out to his room, where Natasha was waiting, leaning up against the doorway. She'd stolen one of his hoodies and shoved her hands deep into its pockets, waiting for him patiently.
"All good, Barton?" she asked.
"All good, Romanoff."
The two of them stepped onto the elevator and rode it down to the common area, standing silently while they waited for the trip to end. They stepped off together, perfectly in sync, and made their way to the kitchen, where everybody was already gathered.
"Something smells good," Clint said, inhaling slowly.
"Pep put a roast on," Tony said, sipping from his coffee. "So we can have a Christmas lunch together."
"Fine by me," Clint said. Natasha nodded, pouring herself a cup from the coffeemaker. They hadn't had Christmas plans, really. None of them did - nobody else to spend Christmas with but each other.
"Happy Christmas," Steve said, looking up from his newspaper. "Feeling any better this morning, Clint?"
"Not really," Clint laughed, accepting the mug Natasha handed him and taking a sip of coffee. He felt pretty beat up - and he knew he looked it, too.
"Was it a mighty battle at least?" Thor asked. Clint looked over at Steve, who shook his head, grinning.
"I think Steve did most of the battling," he said. "I just got myself captured."
"And returned with many battle wounds," Thor smirked.
The mood was light, despite the dreariness outside. It was snowing, and the white drifted down from the sky in flurries, leaving the view outside the window a blanket of white. Clint didn't mind. He thought it made Christmas all that more Christmassy.
It was then Clint noticed the tree in the corner of the room. It was pretty beat-up looking, too, with a few bent branches and snapped twigs, and much smaller than he would have expected from something in Stark Tower. It was also, sadly, devoid of any decoration - the Avengers had apparently gotten a tree, and then refused to decorate it while he and Steve weren't there. Something about this touched him, a little bit, and so he took another sip of his coffee, still staring at it, until the others noticed.
"We didn't want to decorate it without you," Bruce said, confirming his suspicions.
"Why don't we decorate it now?" Steve offered, folding his newspaper in half and setting it aside. The team all shared various amused looks, but it was Natasha who broke the silence, saying "Sure."
She moved towards the box of decorations they'd left beside the tree. Almost everything inside it was brand new, supplied by Pepper. Natasha started pulling out boxes of baubles and lights, bead garlands and tinsel, and a gold star to sit on top. The men slowly gathered around as she started divvying up the tasks that needed to be done.
"Banner, do the baubles."
Bruce accepted the box of baubles and sat cross-legged on the ground, threading the string through each loop and tying it in place so they could be hung from the tree. Thor stacked another box of baubles beside him and sat down to join him, large hands working swiftly on each bauble. Clint, knowing he was useless to do much else, started hanging the completed baubles off the branches of the tree.
"No!" Natasha smacked the back of his hand.
"Ow!" Clint exclaimed.
"Tinsel first," Natasha said, tossing a ream of tinsel to Steve. He started dutifully unwinding it from around the cardboard, passing the end of it to Clint to affix to the tree and start winding it through the branches.
"What can I do?" Tony asked, standing back.
"You can make yourself useful," Natasha replied, tossing him an armful of string lights. Tony blinked down at them, the string overflowing in his arms, and took it over to the powerpoint to check they still worked before he put them on the tree. The whole mess of lights lit up the moment he put the powerpoint on, and he grinned, flicking it off and starting the slow process of untangling them.
Once the tree was suitably covered in gold tinsel and a white beaded garland, Natasha nodded in approval and allowed Clint and Steve to start hanging baubles from the branches. Bruce joined in, while Thor mostly sat back and watched, deeply amused. Tony, finally, managed to untangle the lights, and together he and Natasha started winding them around the tree, hanging them loosely through the pine. Once they'd gotten the lights to the very top of the tree, Tony stepped back to admire his handiwork, and reached down, flicking on the switch. The whole tree lit up beautifully, filling the room with a soft, warm white light.
"It's missing something," Bruce said, staring up at it, a wave of calm washing over him.
"The star," Clint said, holding it out to Natasha. "Nat, will you do the honours?"
Natasha got up on her toes and sat the star on the very top branch, twisting it over the pine needles so it would balance on the tree. It sparkled down at her, and she stepped back, unable to hide her smile as she looked up at it.
"It's perfect," Steve said.
"It is perfect, isn't it?" Clint pressed a kiss to Natasha's forehead, not caring that they were showing this much affection in front of the others, and she grinned up at him, shoving her hands deep into the pockets of her hoodie.
The Christmas spirit had infected all of them, and they traded jokes and jabs with ease. "Careful, old man," Clint said to Steve with a shit-eating grin as the latter reached up to adjust the lights on the tree. Steve gave him a gentle shove and went back to what he was doing, a smile playing on his lips. Bruce and Tony had wandered back to the kitchen, where the scent from the oven was becoming delectable.
"Is it ready?" Natasha called from across the room. Tony was poking around the oven, peering inside and prodding the meat with tongs, and he looked back at her with a shrug.
"It should almost be," Pepper breezed into the room and shoved Tony out of the way, taking over. She turned the vegetables with quick precision and checked the meat with a thermometer, smiling to herself. She stepped back from the oven, wiping her hands on a nearby tea towel, and looked across at all of them, gathered in the room.
"Thor," she said, and Thor looked up, surprised. "Your present's here."
"We're doing presents?" Clint whispered desperately to Steve, who looked equally concerned. He had not done presents. He'd been off in the jungle for days, he hadn't had time to do presents. Pepper's meaning was made clear, though, when all five-foot-three of astrophysicist ran into the room and tumbled straight into Thor's arms.
"Jane!" Thor exclaimed, pulling her close and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She hung on tight, and grinned up at him, tears at the corner of her eyes.
"I am so happy to see you," she said.
"I am happy to see you, as well." Thor smiled.
"And I'm happy to see everybody," Darcy trailed into the room after Jane, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her denim jacket. She stood on her toes awkwardly for a moment, and then flopped back down onto her feet, rubbing the back of her leg with one boot. Thor grinned and held his arms out at her, and she walked over for a quick hug, letting the Asgardian embrace her for just a moment.
"Hi, Darcy," Bruce said, holding out one hand. Darcy shook it, grinning.
"Hey, Bruce. Good to see you."
"Erik couldn't make it, but he sends his love," Jane said, shrugging off her coat and leaving it over one of the chairs.
Everyone was standing around chatting when Pepper stood straight and said "Alright! Everyone take your seats! Food's done!"
There was a scramble for the table as everyone found their seat; Clint thinking to grab himself and Natasha sodas out of the fridge before he sat down. Steve swiped one for himself, too, and tossed one to Bruce, who fumbled a little as he caught it. Tony opted for a beer, and handed one to Thor, too, while Pepper and Jane opened the bottle of wine Jane had brought with her.
"This is a lovely moscato," Pepper said, taking a sip. Jane grinned, pleased, and took a seat next to Thor, who had started carving up the meat and passing it out onto plates. Steve started dishing up the vegetables, passing the tray to his left, and all the food slowly made its way around the table, as the Avengers, and their guests, relaxed and began to eat.
There was a lull in the conversation and Steve looked up, looked around the table. At Tony, grinning as he pulled a cracker with Bruce; at Clint, who had a jaunty paper crown on his head, and was telling Natasha a poor joke about penguins and deserts; at Natasha, who was listening intently, stubbornly refusing to smile or laugh, even though Steve could see the glint in her eye that told she desperately wanted to; at Pepper and Jane and Darcy, sharing wine and talking animatedly, complete with exuberant hand gestures; and finally, at Thor, who had one arm slung around the back of Jane's chair, just resting behind her shoulders, watching Tony and Bruce with a grin on his face and a beer in his hand. Steve felt his heart was so full it might burst, looking at these people, all these people who had found him after he'd woken up and brought him into the fold, into the modern era, so easily. And though a small part of him longed for Christmas with Bucky and Peggy and all the friends he'd lost, there was no way he'd trade this moment, right here, for anything. These were good people, and they were his people.
His family.
He'd never thought he'd have one of those again.