A.N - Just wanted to take the opportunity to say a huge thank you to all who have read, reviewed or stuck with this story so far. This chapter was inspired by
Lastavica whose enthusiasm for porch scenes is contagious - hope you like it!
Long after Natasha had gone inside, he lingered on the porch enjoying the evening air. Unusually however, he found that he couldn't relax entirely. Although she had seemed calm enough and had handled their uninvited guest perfectly, Clint hadn't been able to settle since the moment he set eyes on Danny Adams gagged with his own shirt and tied to that tree trunk. Just seeing the man there, after the way he had acted around Natasha a few days earlier, had made his protective instincts rear up and snarl. How he had got the idiot back into town without killing him was still a mystery to him but he was quietly confident that the guy would never set foot on his property again.
Taking a long swallow of his beer, he listened to the sound of the wolves, their keening howls carrying on the still air, haunting, beautiful. Their time together here was over, the quiet domesticity that had come in the wake of the worst of Natasha's nightmares would end the moment they both climbed into the truck and drove back toward the airstrip. He would miss it. Tomorrow they would leave and the next chapter in Natasha's recovery would begin, a chapter that would no longer belong exclusively to the two of them but to a host of other people employed to get one of the agency's best assets back into the field as soon as she was well enough.
After dinner they had built up a fire in one of the old barrels that he kept out back of the property and toasted marshmallows while they drank beer and watched the sunset. It had been his idea, facilitated by his unexpected trip into town, a trip which had also allowed him to buy extra ingredients to make her favourite dinner as a consolation for the fact that they had to leave. He had wanted to make the night as perfect as he could since they had no way of knowing what the coming days would bring.
Quietly, he moved toward the edge of the porch, his bare feet making almost no sound on the floorboards. He had a specific destination in mind, a particular post into which a history of his family was carved, meaningless to anyone who looked unless they knew what the markings there represented. Tracing his fingertips reverently over the shapes, he allowed himself to remember the words that his grandfather had given him as a boy, words that had stayed with him his entire life. He crouched down and looked at the two sets of initials that were carved into the wood, aged and worn but still readable. The letters represented his grandfather and grandmother and the initials of his grandfathers parents, a legacy of the relationships that had meant most to the men in the Barton family.
Having never taken a woman out to the cabin, he had never contemplated adding his own initials to the list. Tonight he knew that the time had come for him to take his place among his ancestors and admit, even if it was only to himself, the wolves and the darkening sky, that no other initials would ever be as entwined with his own as hers. It was a ritual, a quiet magic, taking his pocket knife and chiseling the letters into the aged wood, splitting the grain with careful, precise movements, the formation of a lasting memorial to his feelings for the only woman who had ever made him hunger for a normal life.
Sitting back on his heels, he admired his handy work, tracing his fingers over the letters. This cabin was now as much hers as it was his. No matter where life took them, or whether they were in contact or not, he couldn't imagine ever bringing another woman there. If she were to walk out of his life tomorrow he would always think of the cabin as their place.
He lifted his beer, inclined it toward the inscribed post in deference to his grandfather, and took a sip. As he rose, he became aware of a presence at the other end of the porch and found her watching him, green eyes filled with a soft curiosity. Damn it, he had put his heart out there and she had caught him doing it. She was dressed for bed and had thrown one of the heavy woollen blankets from the closet around her shoulders to stave off the chill that he hadn't noticed. In that respect they were opposites, Natasha was often cold, particularly since her time in captivity, where he always ran hotter than average.
Slowly, she approached, crouching in the space he had just vacated so that she could see the letters more clearly. "This is your grandfather?" she asked, tracing the initials above the freshly carved letters that represented them. He nodded silently. "And this?"
"My grandmother," he explained, "the letters above them are his parents. It's sort of a family tradition I guess..."
She rose gracefully to her feet, keeping her eyes on the letters, face unreadable. "I'm honoured," she exclaimed softly after a few seconds.
Compelled to explain himself, he struggled to find a way to explain his actions that wouldn't make her feel awkward. "My grandfather told me that the men in the family always carved the initials of the person who meant most to them into the cabin, as a way of recording a moment for future generations..." he stopped when she turned her face toward his, a gentle smile pulling at the corner of her lips.
"I'm going to hug you now," she told him, stepping in close and wrapping her arms around him, enfolding him in the blanket as well as her embrace. It was exactly the last thing that he had expected her to do but he recovered quickly and returned her embrace, enjoying the feeling of her body up against his own. She curved herself into him, turning her mouth up to his, allowing him a moment to pull away before she closed the distance between their mouths and brushed his lips with hers. It was the briefest of touches but the fact that she willingly offered it made it more precious to him. "Thank you," she murmured, "for everything."
Still holding her gently, he let her rest her head against his shoulder. "You're the only person I've ever brought out here," he told her, "and after all we've been through together it seemed appropriate."
"It's lovely," she sighed, "and if I had a place where my family marked the names of those who meant most to us, then your name would be next to mine."
They stayed out on the porch for a while longer, watching the sky fade from blue to black, both of them sinking into the rocking chair, Natasha sitting on his lap, his arms around her. The quiet between them was comfortable, as was their embrace, a quiet way of reaffirming the bond that they had shared since the day he spared her life and offered her a new life. While the wolves moved through the meadow with their pups, the alpha keeping a watch on the couple on the porch, Clint committed the moment to memory, knowing that once they were back in the real world these moments would stop.
She fell asleep in his arms, her head tucked into his shoulder while he stared up at the stars and barely stirred as he carried her to bed, only moving to roll into the warmth of his body when he slipped between the sheets beside her. It was going to be hard getting used to sleeping without her after the last couple of weeks, he realised, somewhere along the way it had become second nature for both of them to seek the comfort of the other during the night. Wrapping himself around her one last time, he took in the peaceful expression she wore, the way her body curled into his and he waited without knowing what he waited for. Lulled by the sound of her breathing, he eventually gave in and allowed sleep to claim him.