Thank you so much to everyone who has liked and commented on this fic! I'm so glad others are liking Laura and the family dynamic I'm playing with here. I have several more chapters yet to come covering major moments between the movies to bring us up to life post-Age of Ultron. I hope you'll all continue to enjoy the story!
This chapter includes a bit of material that mentions surgery, bullet wounds, scarring, etc. so just a heads-up if that is triggering to you. Nothing is particularly graphic.
From then on, Laura's fear tended to be for Natasha rather than about her.
Clint and Natasha's skills were unparalleled and since Fury and S.H.I.E.L.D. weren't ones for letting resources go to waste, that meant putting Strike Team Delta on the most difficult and dangerous missions. The type where even an extraction plan wasn't feasible and the pair had to use their own talents to get home safe. Clint did his best to check in routinely and let Laura know everything was all right, but the nature of their work required long stretches of radio silence where she just had to hope for the best and stay focused on the kids to keep her mind off worrying.
So when her private line rang when she knew Clint was at S.H.I.E.L.D., terror slid through her blood like ice water.
Clint himself spoke, his first words assuring her that he was fine, but what he said next brought back the nauseous dread.
Natasha had been shot, badly. She had been on mission escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran when something attacked her car and drove it off a small cliff. From what they could tell, she had put herself between the engineer and whoever threatened them and the bastard had shot the man through her.
Natasha had managed to call in for an emergency extraction, but by the time Clint and Coulson found her, propped unconscious in the shadow of the ruined car with her gun still in her lap, she had already been bleeding out for hours. Laura could hear the rare shakiness in his voice as he described the scene and how he had thought they were already too late.
But Natasha was strong and abdominal wounds are slow killers. She was in critical condition, but still breathing when they got her out of the desert and en route to the nearest S.H.I.E.L.D. facility under the frantic care of combined S.H.I.E.L.D. and Army medics.
Laura stayed on the phone with him for over an hour as he waited outside the surgical bay for word. Half the time they didn't even say anything, but if she couldn't be with him in person, she would do the best she could by phone. At last, someone came out to update them. Clint lowered the phone but left it on so Laura heard most of what the medic was saying.
They had gotten Natasha stabilized, which immediately removed a significant amount of the tension that had knotted Laura's stomach. It was very close and they were still replacing some of the blood she lost, but they had closed the wound and stopped the bleeding. The bullet had gone all the way through her abdomen beside her navel, missing any bones and her spinal cord. Unfortunately, it had torn straight through her intestines. While they had reducted the damaged section and the organ should work fine again soon, the hours before they had gotten to her were hours for the intestinal bacteria to seep out and spread into her bloodstream. So while the initial risk was past, the battle with massive infection was just beginning.
Clint stayed at her side in the S.H.I.E.L.D. medical center for the next week as she was wracked with fevers and pumped full of antibiotics. The doctors admitted they would have expected anyone else to succumb to septic shock within the first day or two, but with every day Natasha's immune system gained ground, inch by painful inch. And Clint dutifully kept Laura up-to-date.
Once her fever finally broke enough that Natasha could be conscious for periods of time with minimal delusions, she could keep down a liquid diet without throwing it back up again, and the doctors were satisfied that her wounds were healing well enough that they likely wouldn't reopen under careful movement, Clint started negotiating to have her finish her recovery off-site. The doctors initially rejected the idea, since she had no official home on file other than her quarters at the Triskelion, but Fury gave his approval, knowing just what Clint had in mind.
And so, Laura made up the guest room, stocked up the house with extra food and supplies, and tried to brief the kids about the company coming to stay with them for a while.
"So this isn't going to be the same as the other times she's come to visit. Auntie Nat's sick, so she's just going to be sleeping most of the time, and I want you guys to let her rest, okay? She's not going to feel well enough to play for a while."
"Like when I get a sick day from school?" Cooper asked.
"Pretty much, yeah. So we'll need to be quiet up here so she can sleep. Any noisy playing you want to do will have to be outside until she feels better."
Laura figured she would have to remind them of that throughout Natasha's stay, but for now the kids seemed to understand. All in all, Laura thought she had everything prepared to handle things throughout the recovery. When they arrived, however, she realized she wasn't emotionally prepared for the sight of Clint carrying his barely conscious partner out of the Quinjet.
All things considered, she supposed Natasha was looking pretty good, but she had never seen the woman require any help beyond a shoulder to brace against, even when bleeding from a knife wound. Seeing her limp, pale, and apparently unembarrassed by having Clint carry her made Laura's stomach tighten again.
But she tried not to let that show on her face. She could already see Clint trying to keep his expression light and pretend nothing about the situation was outside the norm. He grinned when he saw Laura as he walked up the front steps.
"Hey, babe. Hope you don't mind me carrying another woman across the threshold. It's not what it looks like."
Laura just shook her head. "The room's ready upstairs. Can you make it that far?"
"These biceps aren't just for shooting arrows and showing off. I'm good."
Natasha had stirred at Laura's voice, lifting her head off Clint's shoulder with fever-bleary eyes. "Hey, Laura," she rasped. "Sorry to intrude—"
"You stop that," Laura interrupted before Nat could get into a guilt-ridden mindset. She rested her hand on Natasha's shoulder, feeling the heat radiating even through the sleeve of her t-shirt. "Where else would you come when you're sick but home?"
Even through the haze in her eyes, Laura could see that look of surprised and awkward emotion Natasha always got when shown sincere acts of caring. Laura just smiled tightly and started up the staircase. "Come on, let's get you to bed before Clint passes out instead."
"Hey, don't call Nat heavy. That's not nice," Clint teased back, following her up.
Natasha muttered something back in Russian that Laura didn't catch, but it made Clint smile genuinely, so she was happy to hear it.
They settled her into the bed upstairs, a glass of water and her medications in reach on the bedside table. Before letting her go back to sleep, Clint asked to check her incisions again. Laura stepped back out of respect when Natasha pulled the hem of her shirt up, but found herself glancing over with morbid curiosity as Clint peeled the adhesive bandage back. The wound was still red and puckered where the bullet had torn through her, but surprisingly small to have caused so much damage. Clint seemed to approve, putting the bandage back in place.
"And the back," he continued. Natasha shifted to the side with a grimace and Clint braced one hand against her hip to support her as he repeated the process on her back. Laura knew she should be feeling some kind of pang of jealousy seeing her husband touching another woman that way, but there was absolutely nothing sensual about the contact. His mind was only on her well-being and taking care of her. Any ghosts of concern over his closeness with Natasha that may have flitted through the back of Laura's mind over the years evaporated completely as he finished his check and helped her relax back into bed with the same care he used with Lila.
"Well, first transportation out of the hospital and nothing reopened. Those medics who doubted me are going to owe me twenty bucks," he said proudly. "But for now, rest up for a bit, drink plenty of water when you're awake enough, and we'll check in in case you need anything, okay? My phone's on all the time too."
"Okay. Clint?" she asked, catching his wrist before he walked away. Her eyes met his, more lucid than Laura had seen them so far. "At S.H.I.E.L.D., when I was…hallucinating, did I say anything…"
"Nothing I didn't already know," Clint assured her. "And the medics didn't speak Russian. Your reputation and secrets are secure."
"Thanks," she nodded, letting go of his arm and relaxing at last.
Clint patted her leg as he left and Laura propped the door most of the way closed behind them.
In the hallway, they found a pair of nervous young faces peeking out of their respective bedrooms. Clint beamed, kneeling down to greet his kids as they came to him for hugs.
Lila seemed unusually subdued, though.
"What's wrong, honey?" Clint asked.
She looked up at him with an expression that tore at Laura's heart. "Is Auntie Nat dying?"
Laura saw the flinch in Clint's jaw, knew the question was a stab in a still raw part of his own heart, but his smile never faltered. "No, sweetie. She had a close call, but she's going to be okay now. Remember when you had chicken pox last year?"
Lila's nose wrinkled in disgust. "Yeah."
"That's kind of how she feels right now, just without the itching. But you got better and she's going to do the same. All right?"
Lila nodded. "Can I make her a 'Get Well' card?"
"Me too!" Cooper joined in.
Clint hugged them to him again, hiding the tears just showing at the edge of his eyes. "I think she'd love that. It might be a few days till she's awake enough to read them, but I think that's a great idea."
Exuberant with their new plan, the kids scrambled back to their rooms to find art supplies, already debating who would say what on each.
Clint pushed himself up, turning to the stairs. "I'll go get our bags out of the 'jet."
"Hang on," Laura said and had her arms around him before she even finished the thought.
She needed to feel him, needed his warmth against her, the familiar firmness of his body as she squeezed him tight, even if she could tell he'd lost almost as much weight as Natasha over the last few weeks. As selfish as it was, she needed to feel him whole and strong too, to reassure herself that it wasn't him who had been shot. She had seen him with every manner of break, gash, contusion, and concussion, but this…this had been too close.
And when Clint held her firmly against him too, his grip almost uncomfortably strong, she knew he was feeling the same thing. His breathing was just slightly irregular, like he was holding onto control with only his father's awareness that the kids were two rooms away, and she swore later in the day, when they could get some time alone, she would make sure he was finally able to let go. He had had to keep the optimistic face on too long since the shooting, and he needed to let himself break down now that it was over.
Well, not over. There was a long recovery ahead, but for now, for just a few moments, they allowed themselves a bubble of voiceless comfort and reassurance before reality called them back to action again.
OOO
Laura supposed she shouldn't have been surprised that Natasha's return to health progressed as quickly as it did. Clint had mentioned that whatever conditioning the Russians had done back when she was being trained seemed to have given her increased pain tolerance and accelerated healing. So what the medics had projected as the milestones for her recovery became a bit moot as Natasha bypassed the schedule by days.
Not that this was fast enough for Natasha, though. The biggest difficulty Laura found in caring for her was convincing her not to rush to be back at one hundred percent and to allow her body time to recover fully instead of testing her limits constantly.
Fortunately, Clint had been right to bring her home. While the medics at S.H.I.E.L.D. might have been intimidated, tricked, or outranked by the Black Widow, Laura found that Natasha seemed to have a much harder time disobeying the loving, guilt trip-laden instructions Laura used. However much she grumbled, the veteran spy still gave in just about every time Clint or Laura pushed a treatment. And if that didn't work, bringing in one of the kids usually pushed her over the edge.
Still, the stir-craziness, residual pain, and frustration finally got to Natasha enough that she was snappy toward Laura and just overall done with the entire "down time" concept.
"I've run missions on a broken leg. I think I can handle walking around the house on my own," she vented one afternoon.
"You've barely been on your feet more than to use the bathroom in weeks. Your muscles need time to build back up again," Laura reasoned as she put fresh sheets on the bed.
"And how are they supposed to do that if I can't even go for a walk?" Natasha growled from the chair nearby.
"That's fine as long as Clint or I are around in case anything happens. You don't want one of the kids to find you passed out or something, do you?"
As usual, the threat of the kids won the argument. "Has Fury been in touch?" Natasha asked instead.
"Not that I've heard, but Clint's the one to ask about that. Don't tell me you're itching to get back to work already? This is your sick leave."
"In the old days, I would've been back in the field weeks ago," she grumbled.
Laura knew enough to realize the woman was referring to her pre-S.H.I.E.L.D. life, something she rarely meant fondly. She must really be getting irritated to feel any kind of longing for that time. "I thought one of the benefits of being with S.H.I.E.L.D. was that they don't force you to do stuff like that."
That seemed to silence her for a moment. Laura continued smoothing the sheet on the bed, letting her barb sink in.
"I'm tired of being useless."
Laura stopped, still leaned over the bed. The tone of voice was softer, no trace of anger, just…a sincere weariness. She looked over to see Natasha glaring out the window with a slightly defeated expression. She was slumped back in the chair and Laura couldn't help but note again how skinny and tiny she looked from the combination of fever and a bland, mostly liquid diet.
"When I stay at the Triskelion's medical wing, at least I hear what's going on. Out here…I'm out of touch. I don't know if they've caught the assassin who targeted my engineer. I'm the only witness. I should be out there, not sitting around watching television."
And that was it, Laura realized. Natasha's body might heal above normal human expectations, but unless her mind had something to do too, she wasn't going to get back to normal. She was an agent without agency.
Laura sighed. "I'll talk to Clint about getting you a secure connection with S.H.I.E.L.D. I make no promises, but there's probably something they can have you do on the computer or something until you're cleared to come back."
The spark of life rekindled in Natasha with an almost tragic immediacy. Her entire posture changed, purpose stirring her into a healthier appearance than Laura had seen in weeks. "Thanks."
"Like I said, no promises," Laura said, lest she get her hopes put down again. "Until then, I can always use an extra set of hands around the house. Can you pass me that blanket?"
"Sure." Natasha got up, still shaky on her legs, and helped her finish making the bed.
Laura subtly watched her the rest of the afternoon as she included Natasha in the chores and preparation for dinner, then watching the kids in the evening. Whenever Nat seemed like she was pushing it too fast, Laura gave her something easier to do. She still wound up needing to be helped back to bed not long after Cooper and Lila, but Clint said when he left she had fallen asleep with a satisfied look on her face.
OOO
There were no immediate changes after Laura passed Natasha's request on to Clint. He was in touch with work routinely and said he had tried to get updates out of Director Fury, but hadn't heard much back yet.
In the meantime, Natasha continued pitching in around the farm, even getting into a bit of a routine, albeit one that worked around the occasional naps she still needed throughout the day. Her strength and energy were returning significantly, though, now that her digestive system had recovered enough to allow a solid, heartier diet, and having responsibilities kept her stir-craziness to a minimum. Laura knew Natasha would rather be on the trail of her shooter, but she found herself hoping Fury wouldn't give in to their request.
To be honest, that week was one of the most enjoyable Laura could remember. Having Clint home and carefree for any length of time was remarkable, but for several weeks with a promise that he wouldn't be called away for work? Unheard of. And for all that Natasha was a frequent visitor, she previously had only stayed for a few days at a time, never long enough to get past the feeling of being a guest. Now, they had the luxury of falling into a rhythm as a family and it made Laura all the more bittersweet about how much time she normally spent as the single parent in the house. To the people in town and at Cooper's school, Laura was a military wife whose husband was frequently deployed with some type of special services branch, which wasn't really that far from the truth. She didn't begrudge Clint his work or have any pretenses about what she had married into, but it made her cherish these brief interludes as long as she could.
Having an extra set of hands around gave Laura something she almost didn't recognize any more: free time. With the chores under control and the kids occupied, Laura got out supplies she hadn't gotten to play with in years and began painting something that wasn't a wall of the house again. She even got Natasha to try it with her, setting up a still life of fruit, a vase, and one of Clint's arrows for a laugh on the kitchen table. Natasha's painting was very basic and had the extremely precise style of someone trying really hard to do it "right", but Laura was proud of her and showed it off to Clint and the kids excitedly. Natasha shrugged it off as not for her, but when Laura hung it up in the guest room, they occasionally saw her settling into bed smiling at the painting and the array of the kids' 'get well' cards arranged beneath it.
The extra help also meant the rare privilege of being able to run errands without having to bring the kids along. Laura adored her children and wouldn't give them up for anything, but every mother needed a break from time to time and she had learned even a trip to the grocery store could be incredibly relaxing when it didn't involve wrangling two energetic children with short attention spans.
"Okay, I think I've got everything that was on the list on the fridge," she said, gathering her purse. Clint and Cooper were checking and cleaning his bows at the kitchen table while Natasha played with Lila in the living room. "Nat, I'll get some more of that cranberry juice you like, but I'm going to have to skip your other request since you're not cleared for vodka yet, sorry."
"Booo," Natasha commented drily.
"Have Clint take it up with your doctors. Oh, do you need any more pads or tampons? I think there were some in your bathroom, but you've been here a while, so…"
Natasha froze a bit awkwardly. "No, I'm fine. Thanks."
Laura frowned slightly. "You sure? 'Cause I don't mind and you hate to run out and—"
"Hey," Clint called, "while you girls are talking about that, I'm just going to turn my hearing aid down, okay?"
Laura gave him a fake sympathetic pout. "Aw, are we talking about the big scary periods?"
"Can't hear you. Deaf," he shook his head. "Cooper too."
Now Laura grinned mischievously, moving in front of him so he couldn't avoid her. "Tampons, tampons, tampons!" she chanted, signing along with it.
"Tampons!" Lila shouted back from Natasha's lap.
All three adults stared at her as Cooper just looked back and forth, confused.
"What are tampons?" he asked.
"Scary tampons!" Lila grinned.
"Oh," Laura groaned, knowing that was going to come back to bite her. She gave Natasha a rueful, pleading look. "While I'm gone, can you fix this?"
"If by 'fix' you mean 'encourage', sure," she replied, smirking innocently.
"Maybe I shouldn't leave you guys in charge."
A knock at the front door made them all freeze. None of their neighbors had said they were coming by and they would have heard a car pull in if they had.
Clint picked up the bow and his quiver, signaling Cooper to go to the back room. Natasha slipped off the sofa, passing Lila to Laura and getting to her knees with a gun from a stash that Laura didn't know existed. Laura retreated to join Cooper in the back, remembering the escape plans they had worked out over the years.
As Clint neared the front door, a familiar voice from the other side called, "I know y'all have reason to be paranoid, but it's too damn hot to leave a man standing out here in a leather coat."
"Nick?" Clint frowned, lowering the bow and opening the door.
"Agent Barton," the one-eyed man greeted him. "May I come in?"
"Yeah. Sure." He stepped out of the way, still a bit taken aback. "Laura, it's all right."
"I tried to call first," Director Fury said, looking particularly out-of-place as he stood in their pastoral house in his all-black outfit, "but your reception out here is shit."
"Shit!" Lila piped up before Laura could stop her.
Fury raised an eyebrow. "Smart kid." He frowned. "What are you doing up, Romanoff? Our medics aren't gonna be too happy if you're undoing all their hard work already."
"I'm fine," she said, tucking the gun into her belt at her back. "I can be ready to go whenever you need me."
"Relax, I'm not here for that. Though I did bring you a bit of homework to catch up on while you're out here. Both of you."
Laura touched Clint's arm. "I'm going to take the kids upstairs, let you guys get to work."
"Okay. Sorry."
"It's okay."
And it was. Not ideal, not how she would have things in a perfect world, but she understood. Some women's husbands got called away for military service or as police officers or firemen; hers was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Their work saved lives and made sure there would still be a world for their kids to grow up in.
Still, when she came back downstairs, the entire mood in the house had changed. Gone was the playfulness and everyday family life. Agent Barton and Agent Romanoff sat around the dining room table with Director Fury, going over holographic files. The blue and green light clashed strangely with the woodgrains and porcelain kitchen wares around them.
"We're not making a lot of headway on finding your mystery assassin," Fury was saying as Laura came back into the room. "There's nobody matching his description in any of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s files nor in those of any of the agencies who were willing to share with us." He looked cautiously over at Natasha. "There are those who are questioning whether the description we have is reliable or not."
"I know what I saw," she said firmly, voice back to the flat, professional tone Laura rarely heard during their visits. "I got a decent look before he shot me and watched him walk away afterward. I wasn't hallucinating then."
"No, but there are some concerns your fever dreams might have influenced your memory."
Natasha's jaw tightened, but she just looked back at Fury expressionlessly. "Do you think my report's flawed?"
"I think I'd be happier once I stop getting files that include the word 'ghost' in them. So, that's why I'm turning research on the assassin over to you."
He handed her a handheld device similar to the holoprojector he had been using.
"They trust me to chase down my hallucination?" she asked, eyebrow arched.
"I trust you to use every resource at your disposal to get to the bottom of this. I don't like ghosts shooting my people and disappearing. Sets a bad precedent. In addition to that, here's the ballistics on the bullet they took out of your engineer."
Natasha took the folder of papers he passed her and Clint leaned over to read it too.
"High caliber, which fits with it having the power to pass through two people," Fury recited. "Unrifled, which is gonna make it hard to match to a particular gun. But it was the origin that caught our eye."
"Soviet," Clint read, glancing at Natasha before looking back at Fury.
Natasha's eyes had narrowed now, her expression somehow even colder. "Any other reason to believe the KGB are behind this?"
"Not currently. And honestly, if it was them, I don't think they'd have left you behind, alive or dead. So probably just the result of an arms deal, which leaves us back with nothing."
"I'll put out feelers to my network," Natasha said, leaning back slightly. "See who might talk to me who wouldn't talk to S.H.I.E.L.D. At least our assassin was distinctive enough that those who've seen him are bound to remember him. If they're still alive."
"I mean, how many mercenaries with robot arms are really running around out there?" Clint commented.
"You'd be surprised," Fury drawled.
"Not like this." Natasha shook her head. "The way it moved, it looked like a natural arm. I've never seen prosthetics on that level before. I don't think even Stark Industries is making things like that."
"Funny you should mention that." Fury scratched his beard casually. "We've been having some concerns about Tony Stark lately."
"Is this about that whole Iron Man thing?" Laura asked before she could help herself. She knew she probably had more knowledge of S.H.I.E.L.D. operations than a civilian should, but if Fury insisted on holding meetings in her house or calling Clint when he was home, he had to accept his wife would be in the know.
Fury just arched his eyebrow in her direction as if he had forgotten she was there, which she knew he hadn't. "Oh, I think we're just beginning to deal with the fallout of 'that whole Iron Man thing'."
"You thinking about him for the Initiative?" Clint asked. Now that Laura had never heard of before.
"He's certainly someone we're keeping an eye on and would rather have working within the organization than as a loose cannon. Both generations of Starks have shown as much potential for trouble as they have technical genius. Fortunately, they've both shown the same weaknesses too."
Laura realized he had turned his focus to Natasha and a slightly slimy feeling went through her.
Natasha seemed unfazed, though. "You want me to research our assassin and go undercover?"
"There's no rush on the latter. We'll need time to build your alias and I imagine it'll still be a bit until you're in field shape again. Until then, you two can go ghost hunting. The Stark assignment's likely to be a long con anyway, something to ease you back into the job. Agent Coulson's laid some good groundwork getting to know Stark's personal assistant, a Ms. Potts, but that's about the limit of his range. Stark's territorial, especially with other men. You, however, we think could have more luck slipping into his inner circle."
The implications in that proposal left a bad taste in Laura's mouth, but she said nothing. They were spies. They knew what they were doing.
"I'm assuming we're talking handling rather than data recovery here," Clint said, with just a hint in his voice that suggested he had the same reservations Laura did.
"Consider it resource management," Fury said smoothly. "I'm most interested in an assessment, not just of character but of his potential for working within S.H.I.E.L.D. Our scientists also would like to know exactly how the hell a person with a chunk of palladium lodged in his chest is still living and breathing, so we have multiple factors for consideration."
He looked back at Natasha. "I'm putting my best on this for a reason, Natasha, and it's not just Stark's potential to blow up the world. I have a vested interest in him, partly for who his father was, and partly for who I know he can be."
"You really think Tony Stark has the potential to be an Avenger?" Clint asked skeptically.
Fury looked back and forth between them. "I don't know. But I've had some good luck with diamonds in the rough before."
Laura smiled slightly at the silence that followed. Neither Clint nor Natasha were naturals at taking compliments, but she could see in the slight shift in their stances that his words got to them. She had long suspected Clint saw in Fury the father he wished he'd had, and now she believed Natasha did too.
"Well," Natasha said, drawing back into her professionalism, "I'll get right on this and try to find an identity for the shooter."
"And I'll get you more information on your cover for Stark's surveillance," Fury nodded.
"Anything you want me doing?" Clint asked.
"Just work with Romanoff on the Ghostbuster case. Coulson's working with Agent May right now anyway—case out of Bahrain—so they'll be busy for a bit. We'll take whatever next steps we need to based on what you two dig up.
"So," he concluded, pointing to Natasha, then Clint, "you see what you can catch in your web. You back her up. And you," he turned to point at Laura, "let me know if these two start driving you crazy out here and you need me to get them out of your hair."
Laura chuckled. "I'm just enjoying the change of pace having them home."
Fury grunted his acknowledgment. "I'll leave you to it, then. You know how to reach me. All three of you. Good to see you feeling better, Natasha."
She looked up from the screen already consuming her, surprised. "Thanks. I'll make up for lost time on this case."
"Hey," he said, slightly sternly to catch her attention. "I wasn't talking about the job."
Natasha didn't seem to know what else to say to respond to that, but Fury was already nodding his farewell and heading back toward the front door. "Mrs. Barton, if I could ask one more favor of you?"
"Yes," she frowned, nervous.
"Could you recommend somewhere in the nearby town a black man with one eye can get a decent piece of cobbler without anybody making a scene?"
She saw him out with directions to the best place she could think of and a deep-seated sense of relief, then returned to the house to reassure the kids the grown-ups were done talking. As she passed by the kitchen, she saw Clint and Natasha side-by-side, heads low in discussion over the screens Fury had left behind, and she knew their idyllic vacation time was at an end.
OOO
Natasha stayed with them for almost another month, but from that day forward her mind was already far away from the farmhouse. She was still engaged with the kids, still alert and helpful and pleasant to talk to, but every spare moment she was researching or contacting people across the world or training.
The physical training seemed to be her biggest concern. After several months of recovery and easy living, she seemed doubly motivated to regain her speed and muscle tone. It became a common thing for Laura to wake up before dawn and find coffee already going and Natasha's jacket and shoes missing from the mudroom. After her morning run and research over breakfast, Nat and Clint would split their time between the sparring gear he stashed in the barn and the shooting range he had set up far from the homestead itself. They would come back sweaty and with a glint in Natasha's eyes that sent a prickle up Laura's spine, but as soon as the kids ran out to greet them, the predatory edge disappeared and she was just Auntie Nat again.
Until the next quiet moment when Laura caught her with a distant, internal expression again.
Ultimately, Clint was called back to work first. The preparations for Natasha's cover in Stark Industries would take time to set up and Clint's talents were needed, especially after something very bad apparently went down in Bahrain. Natasha intended to go back with him, but Fury preferred she stay at the farm until she was ready to take the physical tests to be cleared for duty, knowing she would just drive their medics crazy if she was on base without Clint and not allowed to work.
Within the week, Fury contacted her again with instructions for the documents they had to create for her cover. Given Tony Stark's known…interests, one aspect they had agreed would secure his attention was a history in modeling. So, of all things, the first assignment that called the Black Widow back to duty was a photoshoot.
The night before she left, long after the kids had gone to bed, Laura found Natasha in her underwear looking at herself in the full-length mirror of her room, clearly assessing what would work best for her project. If anything, her lost muscle mass and weight due to the lengthy recovery would actually work in her favor. The bullet wound had closed and healed well for as severe as it was, but it had left a raised, keloided scar and the vivid pink stood out sharply against her otherwise pale skin. She ran her fingers around the mark slowly with a slightly regretful look on her face.
The expression fled as soon as she saw Laura approaching in the reflection. "Guess the airbrushers will have their work cut out for them tomorrow," she commented with a wry smile.
"If they're S.H.I.E.L.D. specialists, I'm sure it's nothing new to them," Laura said.
Natasha nodded, looking back at herself ruefully. "Still, I guess no missions that show skin in person anymore."
Laura snorted. "Please, most women would still kill to look like you."
"Well, as long as these pictures work for Stark, I'll be in."
Laura shifted uncomfortably as Natasha began pulling on pajamas. "Natasha, I've read the tabloids. Stark may be a genius, but…I don't think he's a nice man. I know you know how to handle that, but I want you to promise me something."
Natasha paused in removing the bra from under her nightshirt, puzzled. "Yeah?"
"I know this is your job, but…you can say no. If you don't feel comfortable, come home. If the photographers ask you to do anything you don't want to, if Stark tries to make you do anything for him that's unprofessional, I don't care what Fury tells you—"
"Laura." Natasha was watching her with a smirk of amusement, but touched amusement. "One of the benefits of being with S.H.I.E.L.D. is that they don't force me to do stuff like that."
The words, turned back on her from weeks before, should have comforted Laura, but the lingering implications about life before S.H.I.E.L.D. haunted her. She tried not to think about what Natasha had been made to do before Clint brought her to the US, or how young she had been when they first met.
Saying goodbye was harder than ever now that Natasha had been a daily part of their lives for several months. Natasha seemed genuinely startled and alarmed at the kids' despair over her leaving, especially when Lila hugged onto her leg and refused to let go. Only repeated promises that she would visit again as soon as the mission was over and offers of souvenirs got them to relent and resign themselves to just pouting.
Laura hugged Natasha warmly, half-tempted to follow her daughter's lead, but managed to stay the adult in the situation and wave farewell with only a slight hint of the worry in her heart. Not only had the last few months bonded her to Natasha more, but it drove home exactly how dangerous life was as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. And she hoped the next time she saw her husband and best friend, it wouldn't be for medical leave again.
Seeing her loved ones off and getting the kids back into their routine of normal life was nothing new after all these years. Still, as Laura closed the door, the house seemed more quiet and empty than it ever had before.