Almost two years into the future is where we find our next part of this tale.
Francis Robert Barton had grown from being an adorable finicky infant, into a knee-high devil child.
Not even Darcy would babysit him anymore.
Clint was not a happy camper.
It had been a usual Monday morning, starting with yet another war at breakfast time between man and toddler. Toddler won, again, and after a shower for them both, Clint had to chase a streaking Francis for half an hour before he was able to wrestle a shirt and diaper on the kid.
Then came the ungodly hour of Blue's Clues and other Nickelodeon baby cartoons, to which Hawkeye had to remind himself repeatedly that shooting an arrow through Diego's face was not considered 'A plus parenting'.
At least the phone rang, giving him the perfect excuse to leave the room.
Francis took this time to grab the remote in his pudgy hands and proceed to change the channel.
The little shit.
Clint sighed upon hearing J. Jonah Jameson screeching yet again about New York's number one menace and answered the phone.
" Hello, it this Clint Barton?" a woman asked in a drawling tone.
"That depends on who's askin.'"
He could hear her disapproving tut and the sound of typing on the other line.
"This is Hannah Kang from children's services. I've been assigned your case regarding the custody of a one Francis Barton."
Clint felt sick, leaning on the wall and pretending to look suddenly fascinated by his fingernails.
"Yeah? Well there's no need for that. I've got custody of him, Barbara left Francis with me almost two years ago. I haven't gotten one call from her, or even an email that says she's remotely interested in takin' him back."
Hearing his name, the tot heaved himself off of the couch and waddled into the kitchen. Clint looked down, ruffling the boy's blonde hair with his free hand.
"Miss Morse is his mother, it's only right that she be able to see him Mr. Barton."
"With all due respect ma'am, I couldn't care less if she came crawling to me on her hands and knees, begging for me to take her back. I still wouldn't want her anywhere near France. She made it pretty clear that she wanted nothing to do with us."
Francis, now bored, began running around his father in a circle letting out excited 'ahhhs' and 'ooohs'.
Clint nudged the kid with his foot, silently motioning for him to shoo.
"Regardless, this company stands for the rights of both parents Mr. Barton."
Translation: a bunch of feminists that had it in their heads that all men were idiots. Therefore they couldn't possibly manage raising a kid on their own without a woman present.
Francis, angry that Clint wasn't fully focused on him, picked up a toy car in his tiny fist and raised his arm. Puffing his cheeks out and looking upwards in a glare, he gave his father a fair three second warning. Then flung the jeep upwards, letting out a shrill warrior screech that he'd heard from a Disney movie.
"I'm not an incompetent father Miss Kang. I can perfectly handle raising Francis all on my-SON OF A B-"
He barely ducked in time to avoid getting a tooth chipped.
"Mr. Barton?"
"B…..Batch of cookies. That's right. I'm sorry ma'am I'm going to have to call you back. My cookies are burning."
"Mr. Barton, this can't b-"
Clint slammed the phone down on the receiver, gray eyes ablaze.
He turned to Francis, mouth pulled down in a frown. The toddler looked up at him with a face of one of god's perfect little angels. Clint didn't buy it for one second.
As he lunged to grab him, Francis let out another shriek and evaded, bare feet slapping on the tile as he scurried under the table. The archer let out a grunt of annoyance at his miss, glaring at his spawn darkly, his voice dropping into a dangerous warning tone.
"Francis, I swear to god. If you throw one more hotwheel at me I will tie you up with my extra bowstrings and dangle you over the empire state building."
A corvette hurtled towards him, connecting with his jaw. Goddamn this brat had ridiculous aim for his age.
"THAT IS IT. COME HERE RIGHT NOW YOU LITTLE-"
For the sake of the more sensitive readers, I won't go into detail the extent of Clint's vulgar vocabulary.
Father and son ran around the kitchen table, one thinking it a great time and the other finding it almost worse than that one time he'd allowed his brother Barney to push him on the merry-go-round.
But it was all fun and games until you ran head first into a six foot two god of mischief.
Francis whined, falling back on his bottom and slapped his feet and hands on the tile to vent his frustration. He craned his neck up to get a better view of the thing he'd so graciously slammed into and fell backwards from the effort, his bright blue eyes wide.
Clint nearly had a heart attack, almost falling back himself.
i-~~~~~~~~~~~~~******~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-i
Of all the things Loki had been expecting to see when he'd returned to his favourite little hawk, this was easily not one of them. He raised a thin black eyebrow, regarding the child below him with an amused expression, and then looked to Clint.
"I must admit Barton, this isn't how I imagined you on your days off."
Hawkeye's mouth was dry and for the moment he'd forgotten how to speak.
"I'm assuming he's yours. Disorderly, doesn't shut up, impeccable aim, and of course…"
The god knelt down, pressing his fingertips in the toddler's soft stomach, coaxing out a giggle from the boy.
"A rather poor judge of character."
Loki smiled faintly, grabbing Francis' feet softly as they waved about in the air.
Clint was really going to be sick this time.
When words finally came, it took every fibre in the archer's being to not sound panicked. If he could make his way over to his Avenger's ID card and perhaps pick up his bow on the way, he might have a chance. But that wasn't considering his son currently at the mercy of an insane killer.
"Look… Whatever you want. You can have it. Just please. Please… leave him alone."
Skipping straight to the begging this time when normally someone would've had to try really hard coax it from him was an odd feeling, but he wouldn't risk Francis for anything.
Loki snapped to attention, looking from his crouched position with a smirk on his face. Ah, how he loved to hear his hawk take on that tone…
"Right… You think me genocidal maniac, world domination enthusiast, and a psychopath. Unfortunately, the appeal to be those things has been lost. I am not here to harm you or your offspring. Don't fret."
His smile grew, and he stood picking up the wiggling toddler with the motion, looking very smug as he watched Clint have a mental breakdown.
"I merely came to catch up with an old ally, and it seems we have quite a bit of catching up to do indeed. Starting with this little fellow."
Clint would've loved to say that hearing Loki's 'intentions' eased his panic somewhat. Perhaps the two of them would sit down and reminisce about the good old days, pour themselves a couple drinks and casually take turns entertaining the tot.
Unfortunately, that would make for a rather boring story.
i-~~~~~~~~~~~~~******~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-i
Swallowing nervously, Clint trailed after Loki into the living room, body as tense as a drawn bow.
Francis was totally unfazed by his father's odd behavior, and continued to be fascinated by this newcomer. He was perched comfortably on the god's arm, legs dangling over with both hands buried deep in that black hair. He'd never touched such soft hair before, and was half-tempted to stick the inky locks in his mouth. In his underdeveloped mind, the toddler recalled a half forgotten lesson from the pretty woman, Jane, about not eating hair.
He'd listen, just this once.
Loki took a seat in the armchair, adjusting the child in his lap comfortably and signaling for his former minion to do the same. It was very satisfying to see that Barton still followed his orders.
"Well? Speak, Hawk. Do tell me about this adorable little thing."
Clint bit back his haughty reply, and instead turned it into a polite inquiry.
"You came to catch up right?"
"That, among… other things."
Clint felt an involuntary shiver run up his spine, unease rising in his stomach when Loki smirked at him with THAT look in his acid green eyes. Even with a baby on his lap, seated in a worn armchair in a run-down apartment, the god still managed to look menacing and powerful.
Satisfied, Francis relinquished his hold on his new friend's hair and moved to sit in the tall man's lap, sucking his thumb and turning his attention to the television. Loki grinned like a Cheshire cat and brought a lazy hand up to stroke the boy's feather soft hair.
It was even more amusing to watch Hawkeye squirm like this than he'd originally thought.
Loki would never intentionally harm a child, but he'd leave that little tidbit of information just out of reach for a bit longer. He wanted to see just how far he could milk this new anxiety and fear from his little hawk.
"What is his name Clinton?" Loki asked, sending a slightly chastising look at the archer, finding it rude that he'd still not been introduced to this tiny mortal.
Clint hesitated, his tongue like lead in his mouth.
"Francis."
"After your middle name, a fine tradition indeed. And his mother? Is she here?"
Clint struggled, trying to think of a good lie, but unfortunately coming up short.
"She's…. not around."
Loki clicked his tongue, almost shaking his head in distaste.
"Hiding something from me of all people Barton? Not your smartest move. You know, it's things like these that make me realize I am doing you a great favour by checking up on you."
Yeah. Right. A favour.
This time Hawkeye wasn't fast enough to not spit the first thought in his mind out without thinking it over first.
"No offense, but I really don't see how it's any of your business. Could you please put him down and just leave me the fuck alone? I'm not your little bottom bitch anymore, and I'd rather not call Thor and the Avengers down here to kick your ass back to Narnia."
Loki's gaze grew hostile and the hand that'd been stroking Francis' hair halted. It rested there on the boy's head, a silent threat in the air.
Clint felt his heart skip a beat, then decided it would be best to sing like the bird he was.
Well not literally sing, you know like spoke… bird metaphors…
Never mind.
"Barbara left Francis with me when he was only a few days old. She's never been around, and that's how it is going to stay."
On a whim, he added quietly.
"I don't trust people who cross me."
The god resumed petting the small mortal child, the threatening aura dissipating as quickly as it had come.
"Some unresolved animosity is still here I see. Tell me, is she really that bad?
Loki didn't doubt that Barton had a good reason to keep the boy to himself. After all, his little hawk wasn't one to hold spite over another without due course.
This was something Clint was not prepared to talk about, least of all in front of the person who'd been the cause of it. He shifted uncomfortably, searching for the right words.
"She's not bad. I loved her, and we even planned to elope into the mountains to get married. But I'm guessing that you can figure out things didn't exactly go according to plan."
"Well? What happened?" Loki gently prodded, immediately sensing the tension surrounding the other man, "People just don't fall out of love."
Clint muttered incoherently. He folded his hands in his lap and tore his gaze away from Loki, focusing instead on the television Francis was currently engrossed in.
"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"
"You happened."
i-~~~~~~~~~~~~~******~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-i
Loki should have expected that, he did have the unfortunate tendency to become the cause of many broken relationships. But there was something he still didn't quite understand.
"None of what happened was your fault though, you were under the influence of myself and the Tesseract."
Clint shrugged, the corners of his mouth twitching into a grimace.
Now interested, the trickster allowed Francis down from his lap and turned his gaze to his former thrall.
"Surely… Someone must have understood."
"Yeah, well. SHIELD don't see it that way. You cross them, they cross you."
Feeling his confidence build slightly now that his son was out of immediate danger, Clint turned his sass and bitterness up a notch.
"And of course, I had a very convincing argument you know. 'The glowing blue cube of self-sustaining energy made me do it!' They all but laughed at me."
Hawkeye sighed.
"But hey, it's cool. I'm pretty used to livin' like a vigilante. If I was Nick Fury, I woulda killed me on the spot. No honour in traitors and all that. I suppose living like this is better than lying facedown in a gutter somewhere or locked up where the sun don't shine."
Loki felt a twinge of guilt; he hadn't wanted to cause such pain to his favourite minion.
"I am a god Barton, surely they are not dense enough to think that a mere mortal could fight my thousands of years of experience and advanced use of magic."
Another shrug was the only answer he received.
"This isn't right and you know it, honestly, even I think that they are in the wrong."
The Asguardian tapped an absent-minded rhythm on the arm of the chair, bringing one long leg up to cross on top of the other.
"I could be of some assistance, if that is what you desired. Testify on your behalf. After all, I am quite proficient in the art of coercion."
Clint actually did a double take, shooting a bewildered look over to his former master, unbelieving that there was something in the god other than hatred, malice, and power lust. Could it really be that easy to get his life back to normal? He could go work for SHIELD again, Barbara would apologise and Francis could grow up with a proper mother…
But the past few months resurfaced in a blur, Clint finding his fantasy tainted and no longer desirable.
"I don't really know what to say to that, other than thanks. But no thanks."
Loki leveled his gaze on the mortal, confused as to why he wasn't jumping at the chance to redeem himself.
"Really? Are you absolutely certain? I don't make offers like these lightly. This is my way of apologizing Barton, and I don't understand why you won't take it up."
The former spy sighed, his clasped hands twitching.
"You know. I've worked for SHIELD practically my whole life. I've done every single mission, hidden their dark secrets, and done things I am not proud of. Sure I look out for me, but I can be a team player when necessary. I can't tell you how many times I've stuck my head out for those people. How many tortures I've endured, or bribes I've turned down when asked for information. Then you come along and screw shit up, and I'm caught in the web. Instead of welcoming me back, those damned bastards took away my ranking, paycheck, and even my girlfriend. All those years of my blood, sweat, and tears meant nothing to Director Fury. So I started to wonder, do I really want to work for a company like that?"
Clint was glaring now, body rigid as if he were waiting for just the right moment to pounce.
"I don't want to work for fake trust, and I certainly don't want a girl who'd put her job before our kid. I don't need help from you, them, or anybody. Did that answer your question?"
He looked to Loki, obviously still hostile towards the god, but for the moment convinced that he was no immediate threat.
"Yes. I do believe it does."
An odd sort of melancholy seeped into the room, their voices fading in with the background noises of 'Tom and Jerry.'
God and mortal seemed content to stare at each other, wondering just how to proceed with this awkward reunion of sorts.
The piercing shrill of a telephone broke their concentration at the same time, Loki leaning back in his seat leisurely and raising a thin eyebrow.
"Aren't you going to answer that?"
Clint frowned, but relented and got up, trudging towards the kitchen. His eyes however, never left the smug immortal perched in his chair like royalty.
He answered the phone, somewhat rudely, and flinched when he realized who was on the other line. Fuckin' social services just didn't know how to mind their own goddamn business.
Loki listened to the conversation with only half his attention span, the other working out how best to continue on with his plan. He glanced idly over at Francis, marveling at how his hawk had produced such a fine looking fledgling. Old paternal feelings swelled in his chest, constricting his airway with the pain of remembering such long forgotten things.
Hesitantly, with no ulterior motive in mind, he once again placed his hand on the boy's head, gently raking his fingertips through the soft golden down.
Francis cooed, and pushed his head towards the trickster's retreating fingers, wanting a repeat of the action.
Loki complied, a warm smile gracing his handsome face.
The toddler was so soft, and warm to touch. Unable to resist his slowly resurfacing maternal instincts, he scooped Francis upwards and pressed the child close to his chest. Loki relished the feeling of the boy's tiny thud of a heartbeat, the ever so faint sound of breath being drawn in and out. He could detect the faint smell of milk and crackers, the freshness that came about with being clean, and of course…
The tantalizing scent of Clint.
Going so long without his favourite lackey had left Loki in a general state of unrest and grumpiness. He'd sort of missed having the mortal constantly at his side, the feel of that coarse sandy hair between his fingers, and every single intimate moment they'd shared.
Loki knew his obsession with Agent Barton was bordering dangerously on the fine line of amour, but he couldn't seem to stop himself.
Francis brought the god's attention back to the present when he'd begun to play with his long dark hair again. He could feel that the small mortal was getting close to sleep, and so he began to rub soothing circles into the child's back.
The tyke was out in a matter of minutes.
Once he'd felt Francis' breathing lengthen in the telltale signs of sleep, Loki stopped and let his hand rest on the small of the boy's back.
The feeling of being needed by someone again hit the trickster with full force.
He felt his breath hitch, and he had the strong urge to quickly rid himself of this nuisance sleeping on his shoulder in favour of a nice dark corner to brood.
Loki almost did, but stopped himself. He could feel Clint's gaze upon him, and realized that the archer must have been watching him the entire time.
No matter. He'd already made a decision on what his next plan was.
i-~~~~~~~~~~~~~******~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-i
It seemed like forever had passed until Clint had been able to hang up on Hannah Kang, she'd really drilled him with some difficult and seemingly excessive questions.
He'd of course, seen the entire exchange between the lie-smith and his son, and to say he wasn't a even little concerned would be an outright lie. Once Loki grew attached to something, it wasn't easy to get him off of it.
Taken from someone who knows this flaw firsthand.
Once Clint hung up the phone, he casually fished out his wallet and grabbed the Avengers ID card, ready to call them in case something went down. Then he took a deep breath, and made the journey back to the den.
"I appreciate you getting him to his nap a little earlier than usual, but I really think you should go now Loki. I am far from trustin' you, and I'm not comfortable with you being around Francis."
The god opened his mouth to interject but Clint cut him off,
"Natasha and Tony are coming over soon, and they aren't going to be as open-minded as I am about you being here right now. If anything they're going to assume that you've got me under mind control again and then proceed to call Thor."
It was a lie, but he hoped it was a good enough one to-
"That was a rather impressive fib Barton, but a good liar always knows that the length of his lie is truly what makes or breaks it. Always try to keep them short and to the point."
Smug bastard.
"Well, I am going to call them for real if you don't leave."
"And let us again rethink that plan. I believe I am holding something of rather important value to you."
Clint swore, clenching his fist. How the hell was this supposed to work out the way he wanted them to?!
Loki stood, carefully, and smirked, walking until he towered over his hawk, one arm still holding the toddler steady and the other moving to tip Clint's head upwards.
"I have decided what I am going to do, Clinton."
His name rolled off the god's silver-tongue in a way that made him extremely uncomfortable.
"I will stay and assist you in rearing young Francis here. Consider it my apology for taking over your mind."
Hawkeye barely had time to register what was happening next until it was too late to take any action against it. He felt Loki's breath, cold and seductive on the sensitive shell of his ear.
"And, perhaps, in time. You will realize that I did not merely make you do all those things merely to show the extent my control over your mind."
As quickly as he'd advanced, Loki had retreated. Clint watched with utter disbelief as Loki walked away to explore the apartment, Francis completely oblivious and passed out on his shoulder.
And that was how the God of Mischief had come to live in the Barton's tiny one bedroom flat.
i-~~~~~~~~~~~~~******~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-i
((AN: Whoah this was the fastest I've ever updated a chapter. Ehehehehe.
Not much to say here, well there is. But I'm just tired and don't really feel like saying much seeing as it's late in the night.
I hope my fluff in disgusting enough. Like fairy floss. You love it, but hate it at the same time. Because you know it'll rot your teeth.
As always, tell me what you think. Drop a review- Syd))