Hello everyone. I hope that you all had a wonderful week, and that you enjoy the next chapter of my little story :). Thanks to everyone who has continued to read this far, especially to those who have taken the time to comment (you have no idea how happy you make me).

Sweet sunset rain: I hope that, by the time you read this chapter, you are feeling better, and I am so happy to have made your day. You definitely made mine :)

I stayed a bit longer in bed, but, at about 10:30, I decided that it was time to get up. I exited the room and found my way into the kitchen. This house was beautiful, yet completely opposite to the previous one. The majority of the furniture was wooden, and the entire place had the essence of being a hunter's cabin.

When I entered the kitchen, Clint, who had been sitting at the table with a laptop, turned around immediately.

"Natalia!" His face lit up "Do you need anything?" "Would you like some breakfast?"

I considered the question and then nodded my head. Clint set up a place at the table and made me a sandwich, he then filled up a glass with juice and motioned for me to sit down.

As I ate my food, I could not help but stare at him. He was busy again with his laptop, but every few seconds he would glance at me and at the plate.

"Clint." I broke the silence.

"Yes?"

"Could I... could I ask you something?"

He nodded and looked at me expectantly

"You said that, when she was my age, she used to dance and.. and I- uh- I wanted to- to know if. Well..." " I wanted to know-"

"You wanted me to tell you more about her?"

I nodded, thankful for his perceptiveness.

"Well, I did not know her back when she used to dance, but I have heard stories about it over the years."

"When did you meet her?"

"I met her at SHIELD. I'm actually the one who recruited her."

I let that sink in for later use.

"Do you know why she stopped dancing?"

I noticed that his shoulders tensed slightly, but he answered my question nonetheless.

"Because.. dancing was a reminder of her childhood, and- well, her childhood was less than ideal."

"Did she grow up with her parents? My grandparents."

"No"

"And you?"

"No"

I knew that I was probably exceeding my liberties, but I had to know. I craved knowledge- craved to know who they both were.

"So you both grew up at orphanages?"

"Not really" the side of his lip slightly lifted in a half smile "I grew up at the circus"

I smiled at the mental image.

"That is how I learned to use the bow and arrow."

"Can you teach me?" I blurted the words out before even thinking about there implications, and a feeling of dread suddenly overtook me. Was I asking more of him than I should have?

His reaction, however, eased my mind. His face lit up with happiness and excitement.

"Of course" as if it where obvious.

"Do you want to learn now?"

And I found myself nodding fervently and sporting a similarly large smile.

The back end of the arrow brushed my cheek as it swooshed through the air and hit the target, no where near the center, but at least it hit it. The first time I had such luck.

After breakfast, Clint took me to the forest surrounding the safe house, and chose a space that had few trees. He then pained an x on one of them and began teaching me to aim towards it. The feeling of completeness that overtook me was overwhelming. I felt so happy, so relieved. I was finally learning how it felt to have a father. Now I was just missing one more thing... one more person.

Despite my tendency to fail at the sport, Clint wore a grin that reached his ears. He was a patient teacher, and a proud observer.

"Good job! Now just try to aim it slightly more up."

I complied, yet still managed to miss it. He did not seem bothered however, and, honestly, neither was I. I just wanted to enjoy my time with him; converse, learn from him, learn about him.

"Before I went to bed... earlier this morning , before I went to sleep again, you called me something. A name, in another language I think.."

"солнышко" he smiled.

"Yes. What is it?"

"Its Russian. I remember hearing your mom say it. It means darling"

"Could you say it again?"

"солнышко. Sol-nyshka" he repeated slower.

"Sol-nyshka"

I noticed that, when I tried the words in my mouth, his eyes began to water a little, and that led me to a realization: the same way that my mother's stoic composure is a facade, so is my father's playful grin.

They were both miserable, for some reason beyond my comprehension. Something bad had happened in their past, something very bad, but it was not my place to ask.

"So.. you speak Russian?"

"Not really. I know some words... only the ones Tasha has taught me."

"She does speak it then?"

He nodded

"She is Russian." That's where she was born and grew up."

"In an orphanage in Russia?"

He stiffened

"In a way"

We spent some moments in silence, before he spoke again.

"You look a lot like her"

"Thank you"

I knew that there was something he was not telling me about her childhood, but, again, it wasn't my place to ask.

After a while of practicing, we went back to the safe house and he made a lunch/dinner for the two of us, and, after eating, he made a call on his phone.

"Hi. How is everything going?"

"..."

"Did they succeed?"

"..."

He let out a small chuckle.

"I know"

"..."

"She is fine. We went to the forest today, to practice with the bow and arrow."

"..."

"Good, she almost hit the "X" a couple of times."

"..."

Then he sighed and his features twisted in what I could only identify as sadness

"Tasha. Could we..." and he looked at the phone.

She hung up.

"Was it my mom?"

He looked at me sadly and nodded.

"Is she okay?"

"Yes."

"Will she come back?"

"When she finishes what she is doing."

And I nodded. Of course she would not come back. Those people who were following us were very good, there is no way that she will be able to finish them off.

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