A Gift From: WhiskyInMind
Type Of Gift: Fic & Accompanying Soundtrack
Title: Make The World Brand New
A Gift For: anuna_81
Rating: 15
Warnings: Red Room experimentation, talk of eugenics, under age enforced pregnancy
Summary/Prompt Used: Five different Christmases (I tried to touch on as many of the prompts as possible!)
Author's Note: tarts a little angstier than I intended, but please stick with it - there is a happy ending! Also, I am so sorry but real life butted in and I ran out of time so technically this is only 3 of the 5 Christmases. The other two will be posted once reveals are done. In the meantime, I hope the soundtrack will tide you over!







LINK TO FANMIX




Make The World Brand New

Chapter 1

Siberia, 24th December 1988

"C'mon Rookie, pick up the pace, dammit."
Clint winced at the invasive voice in his ear and fought the impulse to swear. The in-ear comm unit was supposed to be able to pick up anything he said and cussing out his S.O. on his first field mission was probably a damn good way to get himself canned. Which of course was the moment the damn tree root came out of nowhere and dumped him on his ass in a two-foot-deep snowdrift.
The stream of profanity that erupted from his mouth would have shocked people in at least six different countries - not to mention the four or five individual dialects within those countries. And people thought he hadn't learned anything in the circus...
"Problem Barton?"
If he didn't know better he'd swear his S.O. was grinning, but no, that would mean the man had a sense of humor - something Clint had seen no sign of in the full eighteen months he'd been a SHIELD agent in training.
"Leave the kid alone, Coulson," his mission partner's voice cut in. Melinda May, rising star in the agency even though she was more or less the same age as Clint himself. The Golden Girl. He knew he was lucky to be paired with her, and everyone said Coulson knew what he was doing...
Still, working like this, as part of a team, had... unpleasant echoes for him. The last time he'd done this kind of thing, he'd been on the other side of that shadowy line between right and wrong and it had only been Barney there with him when he screwed up
"Keep comms clear for vital information, May," came the cool response, bringing Clint crashing back to the present and reminding him these people were professionals.
"What, like distracting the new guy so he falls on his ass? Sir?"
Clint snorted as he pulled himself to his feet. Okay, so maybe not totally professional. He'd figured he'd be the butt of the pranks, what with being the new guy, he just hadn't thought there would be pranks pulled out in the field. He wondered for a moment if SHIELD would live up to the promises Coulson had made when they'd pulled him in off the streets, it's not like he had anywhere else to go though...
Dammit, why did he always second-guess every single thing going on in his life?
"May? How far to target?" Coulson's voice interrupted him again - focus, Barton. Gotta pull it together, get through this and then pick it apart in the debrief.
"Two clicks. If our intel is right."
That was the worrying part. Satellite imaging only counted for so much when up against an organization so deeply entrenched into their country's establishment as the Soviet Red Room was. With thousands of miles of Tundra and Arctic wasteland to hide in, they literally could be anywhere. It was only thanks to the anonymous tip off that they had a vague idea of where to even start looking. Clint had no idea why the brass were giving credence to this tip as opposed to the hundreds, maybe even thousands, of others they dismissed out of hand, but the truth of the matter was they were. And they'd sent out a team to verify.
Of course, the team consisted of a handler with barely two years experience, a junior agent and a rookie. Hell, maybe this was nothing but busy-work. In-field training, maybe.
It wasn't up to Clint to check the intel, or second-guess his orders. Coulson had spent eighteen months trying to break him of that habit. It wasn't all on him; he had a team now, a team he should be able to trust. All he had to do was take the orders and execute them.
"Coulson," he couldn't stop himself from speaking up. "How sure are we that this isn't a trap?"
There was a sigh over the comms and if he was anyone else Clint would be kicking himself right about now.
"Who do you think the target of a trap would be?"
Clint blinked a little, surely that was obvious? "Us?"
"Really? Hate to break it to you, Agent, but you're not as vital to the running of SHIELD as you might think."
"Yet." The word was out before he could stop it, but he rolled right on hoping it had gone unnoticed. "Just May, then. From what I've read about this outfit, she fits their profile."
"Aw, you really think so? That's sweet, Barton," Melinda said. "One problem with that though, I'm about fifteen years too old for their tastes."
"But you're not even 20 yet," he countered.
"Right," she confirmed.
"But that means..." he stopped, shocked at this new information. He'd known the Red Room indoctrinated young women to follow orders blindly - and there was some talk of chemical and genetic manipulation, most of which went over his head - but he had no idea this all started when they were just kids.
"Right." May's voice was unusually soft.
"But..." he didn't know what he wanted to say, it all seemed so... wrong.
"Focus, Agents," Coulson broke in. "You should be coming up on the target any second."
"Sir," they called in their acknowledgements in unison and Clint kept low, using the tree line as cover, while May continued around the clearing the tip-off had claimed was part of the Red Room's winter training compound. There was nothing there, no buildings, no tracks, no sign that anyone had ever been there, let alone a bunch of five year old kids.
Clint watched May along the sights of his service weapon keeping her in eyeshot at all times, just like he had been trained to do, as she surveyed the forest on the other side of the clearing for any signs. There was an itch on the back of his neck, he felt almost like he was being watched but he put that down to paranoia - there was no one there, he'd have known about it if there was - and kept his focus on May as she spotted something and ducked into a crouch under the trees nearest her.
"Got something," she wasn't quite whispering but it was a near thing. "Boot prints heading deeper into the trees. I'm going to check it out. Barton, stay in position in case it actually is a trap."
He tapped his comm unit twice in acknowledgement and forced himself to breathe normally. This felt all wrong, and like it was just going to keep getting worse. He began a randomized surveillance of the clearing and nearest trees, not focusing on any one thing and avoiding any predictable pattern to where he was looking so that no one should be able to predict and therefore keep to his blind spot.
"Coulson," May spoke over the comms after what felt like an eternity of silence and Clint let out a sigh of relief. "Found what looks like an observation hide, about a click from the target. Looks abandoned, but recent."
"Acknowledged. Hunters, do you think?" Coulson replied.
"Out here? Doubtful. There's no public roads into this area."
"Check for bugs, cameras-"
"I'm not the rookie, Coulson. I know what I'm doing."
"I'm right here, y'know," Clint interjected.
"Uh-huh, right where I left you I hope," May said. "Okay, hide's clear. No tracks leading anywhere but the clearing. Looks like the intel might have been right - just a little too late to be useful."
"Acknowledged," Coulson's tone was resigned. "We'll check back over the next few months in case they use it again, but they probably won't. They'll be long gone. Pack it up and get back to base, if Barton can make it without tripping over his own feet again."
Clint eased the safety back on and holstered his weapon. He stood and stretched his hands above his head to ease out the kinks in his neck and froze as he felt the unmistakable press of a muzzle against his temple.
"You were right, after all. It was a trap."
He tensed, ready to spin and take the legs out from under her when he felt the muzzle pull away only to be reversed and delivered back in a devastating blow which knocked him down and out in less than a heartbeat.

* * *

She didn't have a choice. She told herself that as she checked his breathing - slow but steady - and cleaned the trickle of blood from his temple - head wounds always bleed more than one would think; nothing to worry about - she had had no choice. He had been about to take her out, she could tell by the way his body had shifted. It was almost as if he hadn't cared that there was a gun pressed to his head. She'd had to take him out.
She'd had no choice.
It had been all too easy to track them into the forest - this was her own back yard after all - only two of them. And young at that. She knew better than to think that gave her any kind of advantage though; even without Red Room conditioning the young often think themselves invulnerable, throw themselves into seemingly unwinnable situations and somehow come through them unscathed. These two had seemed ridiculously unprofessional for a covert operation - the amount of banter between them (and with their off-site handler over comms) was something that would have been punished severely if they were Red Room operatives. And the man... he seemed ridiculously uncoordinated, even tripping over a root that any operative would have avoided automatically.
She had almost abandoned the plan there and then. These people were not the tight unit she had been led to expect. SHIELD clearly weren't the disciplined - but ultimately misguided, of course - organization she had been indoctrinated to fear since before she could remember.
But then they switched to mission mode and she had almost gasped at the change. The woman - May, she thinks is her name - showed a skill for covert infiltration that almost matched Natalia's own; and the man had simply stilled. All his nervous tics and bluster had vanished as he slid into observation mode and she knew that this man would be the perfect sniper. Someone who would wait for hours - days even - without moving, without ever losing sight of his target.
Maybe she hadn't made a mistake after all.
He moved a little - just a minute movement that she almost missed - and she knew he had regained conscious but was trying to hide it. Assessing the situation, evaluating the threat level before opening his eyes.
"There is a glass of water next to your right hand. You will find it helps with the headache," she said, tensing for an attack she didn't really believe would come but...
"You know what really helps for headaches? Not being pistol-whipped." He sat up slowly and raises a hand to the compress she had placed over the spot she had hit him.
"I had no choice."
"Yeah, you did. You could have chosen not to hit me with your gun."
"And if I had not, I would be the one waking up not knowing where I was or what had happened. Right?"
"Not necessarily."
She laughed derisively. "Come on, Agent... Barton, is it?" He gave a curt nod and she continued, "You may not know it, but I am able to read you like a book. You broadcast your intentions with every breath you take. You were clearly about to attempt to 'take me out', as you Americans say, and I could not allow that. I had hoped that SHIELD would take the opportunity to send more qualified agents in response to my request; however I will work with what I have I suppose."
He tilted his head to one side. "You sent the tip?" She didn't move but apparently he was able to read the truth in her expression. There was definitely more to this agent than appearances would suggest. He would make an excellent undercover agent, easily dismissible yet dangerous to underestimate - something SHIELD was no doubt discovering to their benefit. "Why? What's in it for you?"
She took a deep breath; this was the point of no return. Whatever she chose to do next would define her for the rest of her life and she still didn't know which path she was going to take. She needed more time, and she knew she wasn't going to get it. "What do you know of the Red Room, Agent Barton?"
His eyes narrowed as they tracked over her form, she's trained to read people's (especially men's) reactions to her and use them to her own ends, but there's something unreadable about the way he looked at her. She found herself wondering just what it is he saw when he looked at her and for a moment she was lost.
"Not as much as you seem to know about SHIELD, that's for sure," he said.
"TouchÈ." She found herself smiling a little and stifled it instantly. "The Red Room program is a sub-section of the KGB, the existence of which the Kremlin has denied for years. Young girls are taken from an early age and trained in infiltration tactics in order to further the goals of Mother Russia."
"Infiltration tactics. You mean spying?" he sounded interested now, and she knew she had him hooked.
"Spying, coercion, blackmail assassination, seduction. Whatever it takes."
"And?" he said in a neutral tone but she could tell he was hiding the disgust that she herself felt. "What, you want out? Is that it? Or am I some kind of target? In which case, I gotta ask, can we try the 'seduction' thing first?"
Again she hid the smile that threatened to show itself. There's something so fearless about this man that she couldn't help but respond to him. "I don't want out. I can't walk away. I... believe in what I'm doing, in what the Red Room stands for," she almost manages the lie without stumbling over the words. "But..."
Suddenly she had to move, she couldn't sit there with him watching her with those inscrutable eyes any longer. She stood quickly and noted the way he tensed and relaxed in an instant as he evaluated her movement and saw there was no threat. "I..." she faltered. How could she do this? This was a mistake; she shouldn't have brought him here like this. She doesn't know who he is, she can't trust him. He's SHIELD, he's everything she's been trained to hate, and yet...
A noise from the other room snapped her head around in near-panic. She held her breath, listening intently, but there was only silence. The hand on her shoulder made her jump and she was on the verge of grabbing his wrist and using his own body weight to flip him to the floor when she forcibly stopped herself.
"Who's on the other side of that door?" he asked in a cold voice, suspecting a trap no doubt.
She shook her head and smiled a little sadly. "I don't want to defect. But I can't let her stay." She opened the door and heard the hiss of his indrawn breath as he saw the crib.

* * *

Melinda hears a gasp and the thump of something heavy hitting the snow and for a heartbeat she thinks the Rookie's landed on his ass again, but she's read his file. The guy was a part-time acrobat in the circus when he wasn't being "the astounding Hawkeye"; no way he's that clumsy when he's on the job. (She's pretty sure he's not that clumsy when not on the job either. He's got first mission jitters; they all suffered from it, which is why Coulson had distracted him at just the right moment to make him stumble at a non-mission critical moment. Get the fuck up out of the way early; it's always been the best thing to do - leaves the agent focused for the mission proper instead of obsessing over what they were going to get wrong.)
She figures she and Coulson have a pretty good read on Barton. The kid - and she knows it should be ironic calling him a kid when she's the same age as he is - has a rebellious streak ten miles wide but he's crying out for the chance to be part of something. She knows exactly what that's like and she knows that if he gives them the chance then SHIELD can be exactly what he's looking for. That cockiness and need to question authority will actually be a good thing - both for him and the organization. If he gives them the chance.
Or, she thinks of the thud with a sense of dread, if he even gets the chance.
"Barton, check in." She keeps her voice level, lets the training take over and keeps her concern buried. Of course Coulson isn't going to be fooled but then, he never is. There's no reply.
"Problems, May?"
"Maybe," she says on the run back to the clearing that had been their original target location. She's glad it's Coulson out here with her; any other handler would pester her with demands for an explanation, for constant updates. Coulson trusted her to call him in when she needed his input and left her to it the rest of the time.
She circles the tree line and arrives back at the spot Barton had been barely a minute after hearing the strange noise over comms - not a record, but not bad considering the depth of the snow. Approaching on silent feet, her heart sinks as she sees the tracks in the snow. Her own and Barton's from their original approach, but there's another set as well. Smallish, most likely a woman's which most likely means Red Room. There's also the unmistakable marks of a Clint-sized man having been dragged through the snow. And of course, set right in the center of the indentation where she couldn't miss it even if she tried, is his disabled comm unit. Dammit.
"Barton's been taken," she says. "Looks like he was right about it being a trap after all."
"Dammit!" Coulson only swears when the situation has spun so far out of control there's no chance of getting it back on track. "How many combatants?"
"One," she says, hoping she isn't signing Clint's dismissal letter with the reply. She examines the tracks and sees something that makes her pause. "Looks like she was tracking us from way back - she's masked her prints by using my tracks. This girl is good, sir. I had no idea she was there."
"Understood, May." She closes her eyes for a second, reading between the lines she knows Phil got the message that there was nothing the kid could have done to prevent this. "We'll get him back. Any indications where she took him?"
"Drag marks, which... Sir, could this be another trap? Seems like someone as good as she appears to be would hide those. Or fake them. But..." she leaves the rest unspoken, there simply hadn't been time for whoever this girl was to set up an elaborate fake on her own - and Melinda is almost sure the girl had been working solo.
"Unlikely, but there's only one way to know for sure. Hang tight, I'll be there in five."
"No, sir. She could be God knows where in that time. I'm going after them."
To his credit, Coulson doesn't try to stop her. "Go, but keep on comms the whole time. I'll head for the target zone. And Melinda?"
She blinks; it was rare he called her anything but 'Agent' or 'May'. "Sir?"
"Watch your back."
"Yes sir."

* * *

Clint moved through the trees as quickly as he felt safe doing and worried that it wasn't fast enough. The child was bundled in what seemed like a million layers of blankets plus his own insulated parka, but it was well below freezing - bad enough for a full-grown adult; almost certain death for a newborn infant. He hated having left the girl behind to face whatever the Red Room would do to her for this betrayal, but she'd insisted. At gunpoint. She'd finally convinced him that the only way to make sure the baby was safe was for her to return to the fold and tell them the child had died at birth; that there had been nothing she could have done.
He'd only finally agreed when he caught a glimpse of the absolute anguish in her eyes - what must it be like, he'd thought, having to give up your own child to keep her alive? He'd wondered - and if he were honest with himself, was still wondering - if this was all some elaborate ploy. After what May had told him, he was under no illusion that the Red Room would not hesitate to use a baby in their schemes. But why? And why him?
He was a rookie, only just out of training, and while May was a rising star in the organization, she was still relatively unknown outside of the Hub. Any blackmail attempts, kidnapping accusations, whatever the hell they could have planned, would make more sense if the strike force was a well known unit. Names to accuse, if not faces.
And then there had been the barely hidden tears in the redhead's eyes as she'd held her daughter for the last time. "Dosvedanja, Rassvet," she'd whispered to the child, something not meant for his ears and only heard because he'd stepped close through some impulse to comfort her.
No. This wasn't a trap. This was real. And if he didn't get his ass in gear and get back to the target zone and get the kid some place warm soon it would all be for nothing.
"Barton!" Relief flooded through him, spurring him on. May was coming for him - he took a second to acknowledge he hadn't been 100% sure she would, but that was part of his old life. He headed in the direction of her voice, realizing that somewhere along the way he'd stopped shivering - not good, his body was going into hypothermia. He almost stumbled but couldn't let himself fall, not with the bundle in his arms, he had to keep going.
He kept pushing through the snow, why was it taking so damn long to get there?, and then without realizing what was happening he was falling. He tried to turn his body so that he wouldn't drop or crush the bundle he was carrying... where was the baby? Melinda was trying to hold him up with one hand while in the other... he let out a sigh of relief, she had the baby.
"Clint? What the hell?!"
He tried to shake his head but he was too cold to move. Someone draped a coat over his shoulders and pulled him to his feet, it looked like it was his S.O. but Coulson was back at base, wasn't he? He had to be hallucinating, that probably meant he was dying. But he could hear the baby crying, and that was all that mattered.
It was only when he felt his feet start to tingle like they were on fire that he realized he wasn't actually dead, he just wished he was. He moaned out loud, he couldn't help it, and there was Coulson - maybe it wasn't a hallucination after all.
"You're going to be trouble, aren't you Barton?" It could be a rebuke but Clint knew his S.O. well enough by now to see that amused glint in his eye.
"I'll do my best, Sir," he said, before launching into a fit of coughing like nothing he's ever experienced.
"Lie back down, Agent. We'll be back at base in a couple of minutes - we'll get you warmed up properly then."
"And the kid?" he managed to ask.
"The kid's fine," May's the one who answered the question and when he looked over to her he could see her holding tight to the squirming bundle of blankets. "Don't do that again, okay Rookie?"
"Do what; get sideswiped by a 90lb girl? I'll do my best." He tried to match her amused tone but the hoarseness in his throat made him sound pathetic rather than teasing. She grinned though, so maybe she got it after all.
"Settle down, kids." Coulson interrupted. "Chopper's here. Looks like we'll get you home for Christmas after all."
Clint nodded and then dropped his head back to the makeshift pillow. He'd been so caught up in the mission he'd forgotten the date. He let himself think of the baby that he'd promised to keep safe; think of the girl he'd made that promise to. Christmas in Russia, he really hopes none of them have to do that again.


(continued in part two)