Title: in these branches we'll build a life
Author:dictator_duck
A Gift For: ruby_caspar
Rating: G
Warnings: No standard warnings apply
Pairings: Clint/Natasha
Summary: There are the traditions you make, and those that grow around you. (Only the rootless know the value of a home.)

Caution: Here there be dragons fluff.

Authors Notes: This was really fun to write! I kind of combined your prompts, so I hope this works for you :). I hope you've had a happy holiday season, and drink the most delicious of cocoa/cider. Thank you to my beta, who rocks :).


Banner by frea_o



One

The icing's smeared against the plastic, but the kid (Ben, according to his nametag) is looking at the plate of cookies like they're some unexpected treasure. "Chuck!" he calls towards the backroom, and hesitates. He glances to Natasha, waiting patiently at the counter in a frilly red dress, then to Clint at the tactical light display (currently pretending not to pay attention to the kid) "You have visitors," he finishes.

Chuck, the owner of the shop, walks out of the office, and brightens when he catches sight of Natasha; he glances over and trades a nod with Clint. "Nadine," he says, brightly, drawing the cookies across the counter to himself. He waves a hand at Ben, who after a moment dutifully leaves to continue stocking. "How was your Thanksgiving?"

"Oh, you know," Natasha says, and smiles. "Just enough pie to justify the stress. And yours?"

"Preparing for the stampede," Chuck says wryly, looking around at the room; it's almost empty of customers, but Clint's pretty sure they do most of their holiday sales online these days. Clint crouches down on the balls of his feet to rifle through the batteries on display, before happening on an LED converter. Huh.

"It's overwhelming," Natasha says, an edge of playfulness underneath the serious exterior, and Chuck smiles. "I actually saw you had a sale on handguns," she adds, much more obviously smooth than any time she'd actually attempt a deception.

"Three years of cookies on Black Friday, just to sweet-talk me," he says, hand on his heart as he laughs. "Yeah, we're running a twenty percent off deal on everything except the Kimbers. You want me to grab the 26s you were looking at last week?"

"Please," she says, grinning. Clint knows that Nat's been looking to buy a pair of legal guns for a few years now; her Glock 28s are her babies, but they're a fucking headache for going to a civilian range. And he loves her, but she has to stop snagging his P30 if she wants to live.

Chuck leans across the counter. "Jason," he says, and Clint glances over, batteries in his hand. "What're you looking for?"

"Ammo," Clint says. He stands, stretching a bit. "The usual; got any in?"

"We should," Chuck says. "It's a different batch than you bought from in May. And not on sale," he adds, a quirk to his smile. He gestures to Ben. "Take Mr. Brandt back to the rifle ammo we got in Tuesday, yeah? He knows what he's looking for."

Clint tips his head in thanks and tosses the pack of batteries to Natasha, who snags it out of the air, before following Ben. If experience is worth anything, she'll find some way to get him a discount.

Two

Natasha's curled up next to him in the zoo train, singing a Christmas carol he can't quite hear under the loudspeaker's comments as to the light design this year (thank you, corporate sponsors!). Her mouth is close enough to his ear that he thinks her whiskers might be rubbing off on him.

He can handle the painted Rudolph nose, but second-hand whiskers are a bit much; he turns to kiss her as they round the corner into their next stop.

"Get off here to meet the Mayor of Chocolate Town, and see the fabulous Jumping Waters!" the train conductor says, and Natasha draws back, eyes sparkling.

"The Mayor of Chocolate Town," she repeats, as if the phrase is the most delightful thing she's heard all year (beyond "Feel free to electrocute Dr. Sterns as often as necessary, Agent Romanoff," which he is pretty sure made her life). "The Mayor of Chocolate Town."

"We should pay our respects," Clint agrees, clambering out of the train after her. This stop is pretty full, which means it probably has more adult-friendly stuff than the previous ones. See: reindeer nose, and a cat face. He's pretty sure they weren't even supposed to be doing cat faces, but when it's Adult Night at the zoo during the Christmas season, you do what you can to draw a crowd.

Natasha tugs on his hand, to remind him they're trying to be the most normal couple (newlyweds; Scott and Jennifer) tonight, and he laughs, following her into the (chocolate) town.

Three

"Come on, Nat," Clint says, over coffee (well, his coffee; she's clutching a mug of tea and staring at the overcast sky out the hotel window as if it's personally offended her). "We're in New York during Christmas! We've got to go ice skating."

"Christmas was eleven months ago," Natasha says, narrowing her eyes at the window, and glances back. "There was a reason I moved to San Diego."

"Unorthodox Christmas," he says, rolling his eyes, and she smiles at him over the edge of her mug. He decides to play his trump card. "I've never even been skating before."

Natasha's eyes light up. "Never?" she says, testing out the word.

"Never," he repeats, faux-mournful.

"Then," she says, all efficient seriousness (and he knows, because he knows Natasha, that it's a front for evil glee; but if he didn't know her, he would've bought it), "it is my duty, as your coworker and friend, to provide you with an important life skill."

"We might be chased by ice skating super villains," he agrees, taking a sip of coffee. It's going to be fun; sure he'll fall down a few times, but it's like rollerblading except with knives. On ice. How hard can it be?

Four

"Is this a thing you always do?" Steve asks, on the night after Christmas day. Clint blinks at him, having almost dozed off from the time (and, okay, the eggnog). Natasha went to curl up in the bed they're stealing from Steve nearly two hours ago. Stealing might be an overstatement; Clint's pretty sure it's against Steve's religion to let them sleep on the pull-out couch as long as Darcy's still out of town. But Clint likes to spend time with Steve when he can – he knows what it's like to be without roots, and Natasha knows what it's like to be cut off from them; there's a familiarity in loss.

"Is what a thing I always do?" he asks after a moment, not following Steve's train of thought.

Steve gestures with his glass and Clint glances down. "Oh," he says, pulling at the fabric of his sweater. "You mean the theme thing?" Natasha's had matched, except in red where his was green. "Yeah, I mean," definitely the alcohol, his thoughts are foggy in a way which would be a lot more pleasant if he wasn't trying to actively use them. "It's a Christmas thing."

Steve laughs a bit, ending on a sigh. "There're a lot of Christmas things."

"I can't keep them straight either." Clint's grin twists slightly. "Nat's studied Modern Christmas Traditions of North America, so I crib off her notes."

"Think she'd let me borrow her textbook?" Steve says in that weird way he does, where he's telling a joke and asking a sincere question at the same time.

"If you keep making eggnog like that," Clint says, amused despite himself, "she'll lend you her whole library."

Five

They don't celebrate Natasha's Christmas, not really; for all she reminds her friends tongue-in-cheek that Russians 'celebrate Christmas before it's cool,' she's still a daughter of the Soviet Union and all that implies. It's complicated, and personal, and Clint doesn't feel the need to intrude.

But on New Year's Eve day, while she's at work and he's on his way out the door to go to Malaysia, he leaves a new cookbook on the counter with a puffball bow he bought at CVS stuck to it.

He doesn't leave a card; Natasha's a smart woman – she can read the things he doesn't have the words to say.