So this one is a few weeks late and as a so-sorry-here's-a-New-Year's-Eve present I've made this way longer than normal. Hope you enjoy! Happy Holidays! Hope everyone is staying safe and having fun with their loved ones!

Happy New Year, guys.

November 23rd, 2017

"Here you go, sweetie. Be careful and don't spill it on the couch, okay?"

The six year old took the mug of hot chocolate, her tiny fingers fiercely gripping the cup, her little ginger curls swaying gently as she settled back into the couch cushions, desperate not to spill her drink. She glanced back at the television, her eyes growing wide at the image on the screen, and one of her little hands shot out to grab her cousin's arm. "Wait, Gigi! Stay! Watch it with me!"

Georgia patted her baby cousin's head, smiling tenderly. "I can't, sweetheart. I'm sorry. I've got to help get the food ready. It's almost time to eat."

"But…but it's creepy! See that mean boy? He does bad things to his toys! He took a pterodactyl head and put it on a spider thingy!"

"I'm not sure what's more impressive," murmured Clint as he slid up behind his wife, placing a quick kiss on her cheek. "-the fact that she can correctly identify a pterodactyl head, or the fact that they're letting you cook." The super assassin/spy/general badass rounded on the couch and tucked himself into the six year old's side. "I'll watch it with you, kiddo."

"Yay!" the little girl squealed. She nestled her shoulder against Clint's broad torso and began to spew at the mouth, spitting out various facts and tidbits about Toy Story. Georgia grinned at the duo, happily. Honestly, it was really too bad that her and Clint had decided not to have children. He would have made a fantastic dad.

Georgia left them after a few more moments of dreamy gazing to navigate her way through her parent's beachfront home, though it was more of a maze than a house during the holidays. There were so many bodies packed into the house and outside on the deck, presents spilling out around the Christmas tree that they had already put up even though it was still Thanksgiving, suitcases and luggage from visiting family members piled high in the hallways and the spare bedrooms. There was just shit everywhere and Georgia loved it. Their home had always been full of love and laughter and warmth during the holidays. If her mother's family wasn't visiting, her father's was, and Georgia and Allie always had friends over during the holidays.

It still amazed Clint and Natasha how much love and how many people the Downes would stuff into their home. "The holidays-" Georgia's father had once explained to the best friend assassins. "-they're about gifts and eggnog and all that damn Hallmark stuff, sure, but they're really about family. I don't just mean blood, either. I mean family, the people that you love. You don't have to get together and hold hands and shit, you just have to be there with one another, even though they piss you off and they say stupid shit that they know they shouldn't and you know someone's going to end up in a fight by the end of the visit, you get together anyway. And you enjoy each other's company and know that you've spent another year on this Earth being loved and that's all that really matters."

The first year that Natasha had accompanied Clint and Georgia to one of the Downes' holiday gatherings, introduced to the family before Clint and Georgia's wedding as Clint's little sister, she was tense and pale the entire trip.

"Amazing," snickered Georgia as Natasha flinched in the corner. The Widow shot her a sour look, "What?"

"You can face the demons of the world but not an Easter egg hunt. It's adorable really. Now, come on, the children don't bite. Well, Tommy bites but it's only because he's teething. It won't hurt much. He only has two teeth."

"I swear I'll sedate him if he bites me."

"Oh, Tasha…"

That was many years ago and now Natasha was much better at these sort of things and was not-so-secretly jealous of Clint, who'd managed to adjust immediately to the warm family atmosphere.

Georgia made her way through the overly stuffed home to the kitchen, the most crowded room in the house, to help put the finish touches on the holiday feast. In the kitchen, leaned against the pantry, his long, skinny legs swathed in too-tight black denim, Allie's new boyfriend Bryan looked bored as could be, his expression dull and lifeless. When his gaze met Georgia's, he visible brightened and flashed her a quick, fox-like grin. The emotion was one hundred percent forced.

Georgia barely contained an eye roll and skirted passed the pissy, indie hipster, or whatever the hell they called themselves these days. She made for the counter near the stove where a pan of garlic rolls steamed, fresh from the oven, snagging the butter dish from atop of the microwave as she went. Her Aunt Tammy caught on to Georgia's intentions and retrieved for her a knife from the drawer. As Georgia buttered the rolls, she tried her best to suppress the irritation bubbling within her.

Didn't that Bryan punk see all the women and even a few of the men – her father carefully carving the turkey at the table, her cousin Frank crushing ice for everyone's drinks – working so diligently to ready the feast? And yet, there he stood, doing nothing, not a damn thing, to help.

A voice in the back of Georgia's head, the one that didn't want to fight with her sister at the holidays, suggested that maybe Bryan was trying to stay out of everyone's way. But then she saw the little shit take out his phone to start texting and her grip on the knife tightened.

"Whoa, careful there, tiger," a lovely, warm voice purred in her ear. Clint's fingers slid over her own, wrapping around her white-knuckled grip on the butter knife. "You okay?"

"I don't like him."

Clint withheld a snicker. "You just met him."

"Still don't like him."

"G-" her husband began, but was swiftly cut off.

"Oh, don't you start. You don't like him either. You haven't said a single word to him since you've been introduced. Besides, aren't you supposed to be watching a movie?"

"Tobey busted out the remote control helicopter," Clint explained his freedom. "The kids are all on the beach with Ray and Natasha flying that thing like it's a kite."

Georgia only half heard his words, too preoccupied with glaring at her baby sister's schmuk of a guy. "God, look at him, just standing there...get off your ass and do something," she growled.

As if he'd heard her, Bryan's head snapped forward, his eyes finally dragging away from his phone. Georgia had the decency to blush, having been caught, only for that light blush to turn into a flush of rage when she realized Bryan had only looked up to stare at her little cousin, Lizzie's, ass as she walked by. "That fucking pervert! She's fifteen."

Clint tensed at his wife's hiss and slowly slid the knife out of her grasp. "Why don't you go help set the table?" In the other room, far away from the scumbag. "And I'll finish this, yeah?"

Her face twisted into a scowl, Georgia did as suggested all the while grumbling under her breath.

Thanksgiving Late Lunch/Dinner passed in a lively, fun manner. Everyone, including Bryan, had been on their best behavior and, so far, they had even managed to avoid the annual Nana-Momma Downes holiday spat – or, they had at least postponed it for after dinner. Georgia's mood had lightened considerably and all was right with the world.

All was right that is until it was time for the annual Turkey Bowl, a Downes family tradition going back twenty-nine years. Papa Downes and his brother Frank each draft two football teams composed of the family members eager to play and the teams face off in a brutal, knockdown, drag-out brawl of a football game. When it came time to pick players, Bryan was nowhere to be found and Georgia began to fume once more. Not wanting his wife to blow a gasket, Clint offered to hunt down the sorry youth.

And, because he's Clint Barton, Clint did hunt him rather quickly, finding him texting in the living room hallway. Only, there was something off about his behavior and in a matter of minutes, Clint had deduced that Bryan was talking to another woman.

"It's time for the Turkey Bowl."

Bryan glanced up and forced a lazy half smile. "I don't play football."

"Neither do I, but today we both do. It's a family tradition. You don't have a choice."

"No, I mean I really don't play. Like at all. Sorry."

Clint felt his dislike for Bryan like a bad taste in his mouth. "Sorry for being a little shit, or sorry for cheating on my sister-in-law?"

"Excuse me?" Bryan snapped, appearing more shocked than angered.

"Give me your phone."

"What? Man, who do you think you are? Fuck off-"

Clint snatched the phone from Bryan's hand, taking his wrist and bending it forward. He heard a satisfying crunch, followed immediately by a wail of pain, and forced Bryan's arm behind his back before shoving him against the walk, his face squished against the corner if a hanging picture frame. "Oww! Fuck! Man, what the hell?!"

Clint skimmed a portion of the puke worthy text-conversation then hit the send button. The young girl sounded positively delighted when she answered the phone. Clint felt sorry for the naïve girl. "Bryan is a sorry excuse of a man. He's currently at the home of another woman mooching off of her family's Thanksgiving and cuddling her in his arms. He's a two-timing, lazy little bastard and you deserve better. Don't put up with his shit anymore. Go find you a real man who is going to treat you with the respect you deserve and who is going to give you the real kind of love you need. Oh, and, uh, Happy Thanksgiving."

"She's just a friend, dude! What's your problem?" groaned Bryan as he struggled uselessly against Clint's grip.

"Stop talking," Clint demanded as he shoved Bryan's phone in his back pocket. "Here's what you're going to do..."

Twenty minutes later, Clint strolled off of the back patio of the Downes beachfront home and crossed the sand to the giant, competitive mob that was his family. He wasn't surprised when someone yelled, most likely Ray, that Clint was Papa Downes first team pick. Approaching his father-in-law with a wry grin, Clint asked, "What's the plan, sir?"

"We're going to destroy them," demanded Henry Downes in his great, dramatic voice. "Gotta make them forget last year ever happened!"

The year after Georgia and Clint married was the first year that Clint participated in the Turkey Bowl and he had, thanks to his speed and training, practically annihilated the other team singlehandedly. In the years since, he and Papa Downes had formed a formidable football co-captainship. Unfortunately, last Thanksgiving, Clint had been absent from the holiday, responding to a terrorist threat in Moscow, and for the first time in three years Papa Downes' team failed to defend their Turkey Bowl Champion title.

Such would not be the case this year.

The gang was fifteen minutes into the Turkey Bowl when Allie stormed out the back door, screaming for her sister. There came a great uproar when Allie stomped across the sand toward Georgia, breaking up the game. "What did he do?!"

"What?" an already sweaty Georgia shouted over the moans and groans of the not-so-pro football players. "What did who do?"

"Clint! Your friggin' husband!" shrieked Allie, pointing an accusatory finger at the assassin.

"He didn't do anything," snapped Georgia. Though one glance her husband's way told Georgia that Clint had in fact done something.

Eyes narrowing, Allie spun on her brother-in-law. "What did you say to him?!" she hissed, taking a daring step forward.

"To who? To Bryan?" asked their father.

"Nothing," Clint replied. "I just told him it was time for the game. He was on his phone and said something had come up, he had to go."

"Liar!"

"So much for skipping this year's family spat, huh?" joked Natasha, who had drifted closer, as had the rest of the family, drawn to the brewing drama like moths to a flame.

"He's not a good guy, Allie. You can do better than that," murmured Clint softly.

"How is that any of your business, Barton?!"

"Allie, quite yelling at him," their mother scolded from the table on the patio where she and Nana sat with the older aunts and mothers watching and cheering the game along. At her mother's warning, Allie grew positively livid and growled something unintelligible before shrieking and promptly turning on her heel to trek back inside. Georgia followed her baby sister and, when Allie fished her car keys out of the bowl on the counter, she asked, "Where are you going? It's Thanksgiving. You can't leave."

"I'm going to talk to my boyfriend-"

"Oh, please, Allie, you've known the guy for two months. Calm down."

"You only knew Clint a year when you got married!"

"That's different."

"Why?! Why is it different? Because it's Clint? Because Clint's perfect and amazing and everyone loves him? Well, I'm sorry that you don't think Bryan's perfect, too, but I do! And I love him, G. I do."

Bullshit. It was utter bullshit. Allie always did this. Allie fell in love deep and she fell fast. Then, she was over it in six months without fail and on to her next soulmate. It wasn't pretty, but it was simply how she was.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you pity me!" snapped Allie. "I know everyone around here thinks Clint walks on water, and hell, everything is so damn mysterious with him, maybe he does. But he had no right to say something to Bryan."

"He's just trying to look out for you, Allie."

"He can look after his own damn sister." Like the Black Widow needed looking after.

"Allie, stop. Put your coat back and come on. You're not seriously leaving. It's Turkey Day, for Christ's sake. Whatever, Clint said to Bryan, he probably deserved it and obviously Bryan saw merit in his words because he left."

"Or maybe he left cause he's pissed your husband is sticking his nose where it doesn't belong!"

At this point, the entire Downes clan had gathered on the patio, mere inches from licking the windows, held back only by the penetrating look of Nana Downes. Allie glared at the figures in the window and spat another remark at her sister, something they couldn't hear, and turned for the door.

"Damn it, Al, cut it out."

"Stop telling me what to do! I'm not a child."

"You sure are acting like it."

"No, your husband is! Look at this, starting drama, getting involved where he shouldn't have-"

"I can't believe you're getting so worked up about this."

"I can't believe you aren't! You'd die if I ran off one of your boyfriends! Or if I'd ran off Clint! And that's what this comes down to - you're siding with him."

"I'm not siding with anybody, but I do trust his judgment..."

Allie scoffed. "Figures. Because my judgment means nothing. It's not like I'm your sister or anything."

"You have a tendency to be blinded by infatuation," Georgia said matter-of-factly. She was so over this already. Their quarrel was rapidly ruining the holiday.

"I am blinded? Me?! Georgia look at yourself!"

Her older sister's shoulders tensed. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Clint. About the fact that half the time he's not home! How do you really know what he's doing on all those "work trips"? How do you know what he's really doing all those nights you're home alone? And how about the fact that he never talks about his work? Or that he doesn't have a single picture from his childhood? Him or Natasha. It's fucking sketch, G. But you trust him over me. What the hell?"

"Because I know my husband," Georgia spoke. Her words were low and vibrated in her throat, her tone heavy with warning as rage prickled her skin at Allie's insinuation that Clint has a mistress. "Not everyone has the childhood that we had, Allie. Not everyone led such comfortable lives. We had it good. Clint and Nat didn't. So back the fuck off."

"Fine," Allie mumbled weakly. She gauged the all too familiar anger in her sister's tone. "I'm sorry. It was a cheap shot. I love Clint, you know I do. I just love Bryan, too, and what Clint did was wrong."

Georgia did not reply and Allie's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Stop looking like I killed your puppy. I said I was sorry, okay? I know it's really hard with Clint traveling all the time. I acknowledged it was a cheap shot. I'm sorry."

"You're such a shit," murmured Georgia and, when Allie replied under her breath that Clint was too, Georgia added, "Maybe you and that shit Bryan really are a good match."

"One apology is all you're going to get, G."

"Technically, you've already apologized twice. And you said Clint was cheating on me. I think I get all the damn apologies I want."

"I did not say that!"

"You suggested it!"

"Well, maybe he does!"

Georgia's jaw dropped. "Oh my God, Allie!" And in her shock and anger, something snapped inside Georgia. She found her hand reaching for the giant serving spoon in the mashed potatoes. "I'm going to kill you!"

Then suddenly there were mashed potatoes flying through the air.

Allie gasped as a fluffy white wad of potatoes hit her in the face. One shriek later, Allie grabbed the green bean casserole spoon and flung a clump of green beans and fried onions at her older sibling.

Through the windows, the various members of the Downes family only gathered bits and pieces of what was occurring inside the house. It wasn't until they saw cranberry sauce and gravy soaring across the kitchen that Nana let Clint and Papa Downes inside to cease the commotion.

"Girls, enough!" roared their father as he caught Allie round the waist, his hand going to the wrist that held a handful of stuffing. "Allie, drop it! Now!"

Clint had much the same hold on Georgia and he muttered a quiet apology in his wife's ear. He had no idea his actions would lead to this. The kitchen was total chaos, clumps of wasted food everywhere, the panting sisters glaring vehemently at one another.

Papa grumbled angrily for several moments, chastising his two grown daughters for acting like children and ordering for them to clean the entire room top to bottom by themselves to make up for it. When his mini-lecture eventually fizzled out, Clint loosened his hold in his wife and shot Allie a sad half smile. "I'm sorry, Al. I caught him texting another girl. I didn't want you to have to find out...I knew it would hurt you. Figured if I could just scare the punk away, it'd be better."

"What?" Allie gasped.

Clint nodded. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I read the messages myself."

Abruptly, the triumphant I-told-you-so impulse died within Georgia as she crossed the room to pull her sister into her arms. Georgia stroked Allie's hair and whispered words of comfort. "Do you want Clint to hurt him? Cause he will. He's much stronger than he looks..."

"How strong do I not look?" Clint quietly asked his wife's father. Henry Downes shrugged, "You've got arms like an ox, son, and I've seen your strength firsthand-" He gestured to the abandoned "football field" of sand. "-but I'll be honest, I didn't expect it when we first met. Somethin' about that haircut maybe. Kinda makes you look like a tool."

"What?" And, in spite of himself, he brought a hand to his hair, running his fingers through the soft golden locks. This elicited a great barking laugh from his father-in-law, which in turn earned a glare from his eldest daughter who was still busy petting Allie's hair as the younger girl cried into her chest.

Slowly, the other family members trickled inside to inspect the damage and eventually the day returned to normal. The family finished the Turkey Bowl, Clint and Henry were victorious, and Allie forgave and even thanked Clint for what he'd done.

That evening when the Downes sisters sulked inside to clean away the evidence of their food fight, Natasha slipped up to her "brother's" side. She eyed the disastrous kitchen and smirked. "Too bad you left the camera home this year, huh Clint?"

"Oh, piss off, Tasha."

The Widow cackled. "Love you, too, big brother."

"Whatever."

Love to all!