"Come on, Emmy," said Phil Coulson for the twenty-second time – Bucky knew, he had been counting – but it yielded the same result as all the others, with a firm shake of her little head and a mouth clamped shut. "You have to eat something."

"Let me try," said Bucky, marching over to the table with a bowl of blueberries and frozen grapes.

"Fine," sighed Phil, moving back to the kitchen to prepare a pizza in hopes that maybe the kid would eat that. "She's just as stubborn as her fathers."

"I'm not going to make you eat," said Bucky while Emmy stared up at him. "I'm going into the living room and reading a book. Phil has a computer in there that I will not be paying any attention to and he will be in the kitchen for at least twenty minutes."

A thoughtful looked crossed the four year olds face before a ghost of a smile appeared and she willingly followed Bucky into the living room. Sure enough, Bucky set the bowl of fruit on the ground near the toddler and made himself comfortable on the couch with a book. Emmy dragged the laptop off of the hideous map printed chair and sat in front of the couch before opening her bag of tools Bucky had thoughtfully placed on the coffee table and setting to work. As she worked, she would absently take a blueberry or grape and pop it in her mouth, just as Bucky knew she would, accomplishing his goal of getting the girl to eat.

It had been seven days since Emmy had moved in with Phil Coulson and Bucky had left the tower to return to his old, seldom used room where he had first lived when returning from being the Winter Soldier. SHEILD had set Coulson up with a huge apartment that held several extra rooms that were periodically used to place new, wary recruits under his watchful eye. Clint and Natasha had each spent time in the guest rooms in what they secretly called 'Phil Coulson's Home for Wayward Souls'.

In the seven days since moving in, the trial had started, much to the discontentment of everyone's lawyers who had been working overtime to get their cases ready and were used to having months to prepare, not days. An arrangement had been reached that allowed Emmy to stay largely out of the issue, limiting her time in court to a single day, which would be the following morning. Emmy had adjusted to living with Coulson and Bucky as best she could, refusing to eat and sleep when they asked, taking apart everything within reach, and crying the moment her mind was uninhabited enough to note that she still wasn't with her fathers. As destructive as she was being, Coulson and Bucky just let her, knowing it was her way of venting in a situation she didn't understand and as smart as she was, she was still four years old and her coping mechanisms weren't developed.

When Coulson entered the living room thirty seven minutes later, Emmy had finally fallen asleep, curled up on the ground with her blanket thrown over her body, the remnants of Agent Coulson's work laptop splayed about in front of her. Bucky was still reading, metal arm distractedly stroking Emmy's back and hair whenever the girl twitched in her sleep.

"My laptop, really?" whispered Coulson, disapproval clear on his face. "You couldn't have moved it out of reach and let her take apart the lamp or television or something?"

"I could have," shrugged Bucky. "But she was about two minutes away from another melt down so I thought I'd let her take the easy way out and work until she fell asleep and I was not about to go fetch the television for her. She'll be down all night now, she's been using all her energy to be upset."

"Did you at least get her to eat something?"

In way of answering, Bucky pointed to the almost empty bowl of fruit near the slumbering child.

"I'll admit, I'm impressed," said Coulson, sitting in his favorite ugly armchair. "Did you put her in a pull up?"

"I wanted her to sleep, not throw a tantrum," scowled Bucky.

"Fine, you're cleaning up any mess she makes then."

Emmy had been having nightmares which caused her to have accidents. Steve had warned him that it was a possibility and it was part of their nightly routine for Emmy to have a bath, put on a pull up and her jammies, have a story or two read to her, and then sleep. So far Emmy had refused all of those activities with gusto and the only time they tried to give her a bath had sent her in to a full blown panic attack that had resulted in a frantic call begging Clint to come over and calm the girl down. Needless to say, they did showers after that – which resulted in far wetter adults but far calmer children.

"Fine," said Bucky, not voicing that he was just happy she was sleeping before she had to appear in court in a few hours.

-Winging It-

Emmy sat on Bucky's lap in the stand next to the judge looking out at the packed room, seeing mostly strangers all eager to watch the proceeding trial of the famous Stark-Rogers vs Stone.

"Miss Stone," said Tiberius Stone's lawyer, a man by the name of Elliot Gunter. "Can you point out your father for the nice people of the jury?"

"That's not the question he should have asked," Tony whispered to Steve, rolling his eyes at the proceedings. "You don't ask 'can' you ask 'will' because of course she can, she's a smart girl."

"Tony, hush," said Steve, eyes trained intently on his daughter.

Emmy nodded her head but didn't move.

"Miss Stone?" prompted Mr. Gunter. "Point out your father for us."

Emmy leveled him with a look, then signed something to him and sat back, arms crossed and pouting.

"Miss Stone, you have the ability to use your voice," snapped Mr. Gunter, his patience transparent. "A doctor has looked you over, physically the only thing wrong with you is your broken arm, which you acquired while in the care of Mr. Stark and Mr. Rogers. So if you would kindly use your voice, that would be appreciated since no one here knows sign language."

"I do," said Clint from his place in the crowd, holding up his hand and standing. "I'm fluent in sign language, if you'd like me to interpret, your honor."

"Your honor no," said Mr. Gunter, seeing his main advantage of Emmy not speaking slipping through his fingers. "The child does not have a disability, she is just refusing to speak."

"Your honor, if I may," said Steve, standing up and buttoning his suit jacket as he did. "Emmy doesn't talk because of the abuse she suffered while in the care of Mrs. Sunset, which was discussed yesterday at length. Emmy will communicate via sign language, though, and I feel like since so much trouble was gone to so that Emmy would appear in court today only, we should make use of it and let her speak in whatever way she is comfortable."

Steve sat back down and all eyes returned to the judge. There was a moment of silence that seemed to drag on for several years before the judge nodded his head.

"Very well," said the judge. "Sir, please come forward."

Clint resisted the urge to simply hop the rail that separated the public from the conflict and allowed the gate to be opened for him before approaching the tall desk where the judge sat. It towered over him and the archer couldn't help but think that Phil Coulson could use a desk like that for conducting official Avengers business. He made a mental note to get Tony on bored with that prank after things had settled down a bit.

"Please state your name and purpose for being here for the official record," said the judge.

"Clint Barton, interpreter," said Clint clearly.

"Very well, proceed," said the judge, sitting back in his creaking chair.

Emmy instantly signed to Clint, her nose scrunched in confusion, brow furrowed in distress, two emotions that Clint never wanted to see on the young girl.

"What did she say?" demanded Mr. Gunter.

"I can point out my father," said Clint, speaking Emmy's words for everyone to hear. "But you should be clearer as to which one you want me to point out."

"Your biological father, the one who helped create you," snapped Mr. Gunter.

"I'm four," said Clint when Emmy shook her head and signed again. "My biological father left right after I was born, I don't remember him."

"Then why did you say you could point out your father?"

Emmy rolled her eyes and signed again, slower, as if the lawyer asking her the questions could understand what she was saying but was too slow for her to sign at a normal rate.

"Because," said Clint, barely subduing a grin as the young girl's sass. "Daddy and Papa are sitting right there and I can point them out. I know them."

The room erupted in laughter while Mr. Gunter seethed.

"Miss Stone, did you attain your broken arm while in the care of Mr. Stark and Mr. Rogers?" commanded Mr. Gunter.

"I was kidnapped and the man who did that broke my arm," said Clint for Emmy.

"Answer the query with a yes or no, Miss Stone."

Emmy nodded her head slowly, sinking back into Bucky's chest a bit as the lawyer raised his voice. Bucky tightened his grip on her in reply.

"So you are not safe with Mr. Stark and Mr. Rogers. The bodily damage you received while in their care is proof that all can see that these two men are unfit for properly caring for a child. She never fell to harm while in the care of her biological father. Ever. No further questions."

Tony's lawyer was a kind looking overweight middle aged man who waddled as he approached the bench where Emmy sat with Bucky. He was Tony's second choice, his first choice being Caroline Anders who had taken care of most of his cases in the past when he didn't have time to dedicate to them, but he had known that Emmy was going to have to appear and therefore went with his second choice to make her more comfortable.

"Hello Emmy," said Ronald Garcia. "My name is Mr. Garcia and I'm going to ask you some questions, okay?"

Emmy nodded, the thumb of her uninjured hand slipping into her mouth.

"Emmy, who do you want to live with, the Stark-Rogers family or Mr. Stone?"

Emmy pointed instantly to Tony and Steve.

"You want to live with Tony and Steve?"

Emmy nodded.

"Okay. Now Emmy, I understand that you used to live in a home with a bunch of other children, is that correct?"

Emmy nodded.

"Did you like it there?"

The four year old shook her head.

"Why?"

Emmy took her thumb out of her mouth to sign hesitantly, looking at the railing in front of her instead of up, ashamed of what she was communicating.

"Mrs. Sunset and the other kids were mean to me," said Clint, his voice steady in a way that was trained and hid his rising anger as the girl continued to sign. "Mrs. Sunset yelled and hit me and locked me in the dark for days. The other kids made fun of me and pushed me around because they knew they wouldn't get in trouble for it. When I was in the dark, I used to think about how nice it would be to have my dad come get me and take me away from there. And then, three months ago, at an adoption party, Tony sat next to me and showed me how to fix the toy robot. He told Steve and Mrs. Sunset that I was his and he took me away from there. Steve and Tony don't yell at me, even when I spill juice and make a mess and wake them up from nightmares. I like living with them. They want me and they're mine now. Please don't make me leave. Please. I'll be good, I promise, I just want to live with Daddy and Papa. Please."

"No further questions."

*This is the one (and probably only) time you will get an update on a Saturday. Always - Ari