I figured as long as it was Christmas, I might as well do a Christmas special oneshot! I haven't posted in a while because of massive computer problems, but rest assured, I am still planning on continuing this story and writing one that a reader requested!

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Mistletoe and Arrows (Post- Shadow Directive)

That tree is going to fall over, you know.

No, it's not. I have put this tree up for three years. I know what I'm doing.

Clint, I know what I'm talking about and…

There comes a point when even if you are so into signing that you forget to speak, some noises are inevitable. Like the small scream when a very top-heavy tree comes crashing to the floor with a semi-panicking archer clinging to some of the branches. Lucky and I both dodge to get out of the way and Lucky barks madly at the sound of shattering glass and Clint's muffled curses from under the branches. When the stepladder decides to follow the tree, I can't help but bend over and start laughing.

I told you so!

Stop gloating and help me get out of this. Clint is currently on the floor half-smothered by the tree, with the light string tangling him up.

I'm having too much fun watching this. I suddenly have a flash of inspiration and pull out my phone and start filming Clint's struggles. Nat and Kate are gonna love this. Some super-spy, get taken out by a Christmas tree. And not even a real one at that!

Hen, stop that! I'm laughing and my hands are shaking filming, and that's probably why I don't notice an incoming jingle bell ornament until it beans me in the forehead. Apparently Clint's good aim extends to throwing too.

I finally give in and help him untangle himself from the lights and tinsel, and then work at standing the tree upright again, trying not to think about how much glass is crunching under my feet. When Lucky tried to nose in and help, though, I shoo him back so he doesn't damage his paws. Dog's as careless as his owner, I swear.

Let me go get the vacuum and I'll take care of this, OK?

When I've finished the cleanup Clint has the tree back up and mostly decorated, since there is now an appreciably smaller amount of decorations to put up. We stand back against the wall to survey our work.

Nice. Clint high-fives me and I look around at the apartment. The admittedly shabby place looks surprisingly good. Besides the tree, there's a wreath on the door, hanging from an arrow instead of a nail, garland draped around the stair rails to the second level, and lights hung around the windows. I can hear Aimee blasting Christmas music with her stereo on full even here on the top floor. She and her roommate Lou moved back in a few weeks ago, and the spunky girl has quickly become a person I would consider a good friend.

I have to admit, this is the most really Christmas-y feeling place I've been in since I lived at home. Decorating on my own just never felt the same. Christmas is just not the kind of holiday you want to spend alone.

Apparently Clint feels the same way. Want to hang out here this evening? I can make us some hot chocolate and we can watch Christmas specials on TV or something.

Sure!

I set to making hot chocolate in the kitchen (because Clint could literally burn water while boiling it and the only thing I trust him to make is coffee) while Clint channel surfs for a good movie.

A cartoon flicks on, and I'm half-listening until Clint mutters "Oh hell no," and changes the channel.

What was that about?

I'm never watching Winter Friends again. One time with Simone's kids was enough. I'm scarred for life. I have to laugh when Clint makes the funny little sign that looks like "head-scarred" and means mentally scarring. Heaven knows I've used that one enough when I'm ranting to myself about some of my past missions with Clint.

I'll never unsee the time when we had to practically waterboard a guy to find three kidnapped daughters of an undercover agent with a hit on his name, or all the kills I've seen Clint make without batting an eye. Or the feel of the knife in my hand when I'm using it to hurt another human being.

And I can't forget the taste of swallowed-down nausea in my throat as I try to keep Clint from bleeding out in a warehouse waiting for evac, or the burn of a bullet slamming into my thigh, or my choking tears in a hotel bathroom when we didn't get to our objective in time and a junior agent was executed by a terrorist cell.

But I can also never forget the way Clint's lips feels soft on mine when we steal a kiss in the hotel room before we set off on a mission. Or the nights when we drink together to forget the pain and then get slap-happy and may or may not dare each other to do stupid things. Certainly will never unsee the time Clint was trying to catch a rogue female operative whose main weapon was her seduction and by the time I got out of insane Beijing traffic while following them, he met me at the door of her hotel room wearing only a towel and a sheepish smile.

And just yesterday, when we were out in town shopping for new Christmas lights because Clint's had such a frayed cord I thought they'd burn down the apartment, and I was gaping at everything because even though I've had city Christmases I've never had one in New York City! and Clint handed money to every Salvation Army bell ringer we saw and three homeless kids. And then his smile when I told him that I'd rather he give them the money he'd have used to buy me a gift, and us both giving our gift money to an older woman with two grimy little kids. And when I asked why, Clint just smiling sadly and telling me he knows what it's like to have nothing and nobody at Christmas and he wouldn't want that for anyone else.

Thinking about that one makes me smile too, and that's right when the milk decides to boil over the edge of the saucepan and send up a cloud of stinky smoke.

Dang it! I move the pan off the stove and wave a dishtowel, trying to disperse the smoke before I set off a detector and we have a real disaster.

What did you do? Clint asks with a puzzled look.

Milk boiled over. I wasn't paying attention.

Well, never cry over burned milk. Clint grins at me as I join him on the couch with two mugs of steaming chocolate, stirring mine with a peppermint candy cane.

You like White Christmas?

Yes! I used to watch it with my family every Christmas Eve! I snuggle into Clint's side and he puts an arm around my shoulder as we settle into the couch. I glance sideways just long enough to see that the first snowflakes are drifting lazily past the window. I've always wanted to spend Christmas in New York, and I can't think of someone I'd rather spend it with.