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A Gift From: crazy4orcas
Title: The Twelve Gifts of Clintmas
A Gift For: redbirdbella
Rating: Gen
Warnings/Choose Not To Warn: Choose Not To Warn
Summary/Prompt Used: “It’s just … something my mom did for my brother and me when we were kids. Twelve days of Christmas, kinda. She’d finish on Christmas Eve instead of start on Christmas.”
Author's Note: I picked bits and pieces of a few of your prompts, I hope this works for you! Have a wonderful Christmas! Endless thanks to C for the beta - you’re the best! A boatload of thanks to V for the read through.

The Twelve Gifts of Clintmas

“Don’t touch me, Barton,” Natasha snapped. She grimaced in pain as she jerked her obviously broken arm away from him when he attempted to help her out of the vehicle. He backed off, hands raised in a gesture of surrender, as she got out of the SUV and brushed past him, her platinum dye job flipping behind her.

Clint followed along behind her, trailing after the med tech who had met their transport, more to make sure she actually saw a doctor than anything else. Their little train picked up a suited caboose when Coulson joined them. Clint answered the questions Coulson fired at him but shushed him when they reached medical and the bay Natasha had been ushered into.

Coulson just sighed patiently and waited with him while he shamelessly eavesdropped as the doctor examined her. As they brought in a portable x-ray machine, Coulson left, but not before making Clint promise to come to a formal debriefing the next day, and to let Natasha know about the meeting.

Forty five minutes later, Clint was leaning on the wall opposite the med bay, playing Tetris on his phone, when Natasha came out, gave him nothing more than a passing glance and stormed down the corridor. He caught sight of a black cast on her arm before she turned a corner and was out of sight.

Damn, he’d been looking forward to signing her cast.

----------

Later that evening, after stopping by his quarters to clean up, Clint knocked on her door and was honestly surprised when she opened it to him. He’d fully expected her to leave him standing out in the corridor.

“What do you want?” she asked, sounding more tired than irritated. She hid her arm behind the door but Clint could tell it was bothering her by how awkwardly she was standing.

“I, uh,” he stuttered, suddenly wondering if this was a good idea. But, he was here and she was expecting an answer. “I brought you a present. You know… since it’s almost Christmas.”

She just stared at him and Clint found himself fidgeting with the bag in his hands. He’d gone up against some of the toughest interrogators SHIELD’s many enemies had, but one hard look from Natasha had him squirming.

“It’s not a real Christmas present,” he babbled, “more like a get well present? Maybe?”

She cocked an eyebrow at him and he could feel the urge to keep talking rising up in him. It was a good thing he didn’t have any mission secrets to spill. He somehow managed to find the willpower to keep his mouth shut and held up the bag to her.

Natasha sighed and stepped back, opening the door so he could enter. He handed her the bag and she gingerly took it from him.

“A get well Christmas present?” she asked skeptically.

“Yeah,” he replied as he looked around the bare room. The only real sign of personality was a couple of huge stacks of books in the corner. He went over and inspected the titles. Some he’d read, others he’d only heard of, others were a complete mystery. There were several in foreign languages he recognized and even more in languages he didn’t.

“Socks?” she asked, interrupting his perusal of her books. She sounded genuinely puzzled.

When Clint turned back to her she was holding the fuzzy red socks out by two fingers, like she expected them to bite her.

“You don’t miss a thing, do you?” he said with a grin.

She glowered at him. “But why socks?”

“Because you don’t like how cold the floors are in here.”

Natasha’s gaze grew intense and he felt that overwhelming urge to keep talking rise in him again. He shuffled his feet and rubbed at the back of his neck.

“You, uh,” he stammered. “You mentioned it once.”

She held her stern look for a beat or two more before relaxing her stance. She subtly rubbed a thumb against the soft socks and he caught a quick, pleased smile before she bit her lip.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

----------

Clint found her the next afternoon in the corner of the cafeteria. He wasn’t surprised that she’d chosen the table with the best sightlines and easiest access to the room’s exits. His enthusiasm dimmed a little at the evidence that she still wasn’t comfortable at SHIELD, but it had only been a little over a year and a half. There were some shadows that took a long time to fade.

He sat down at her table without invitation and reached for one of the strawberries on her plate. Natasha smacked his hand with the flat of her knife and then pointed it at him.

“Watch it, Barton.”

He just grinned and swiped the strawberry with his other hand. Rolling her eyes, Natasha went back to cutting her chicken, fork held awkwardly in her casted hand. His fingers twitched with the urge to cut the chicken for her, but he had a healthy sense of self-preservation and resisted.

“Here,” he said and pulled a small package from his jacket pocket and set it on the table between them.

She paused with a bite of chicken part way to her mouth and studied him for a long moment. Setting her fork down, chicken uneaten, she poked lightly at the package.

“Another get well Christmas present?” Her tone was completely flat.

Clint cleared his throat. “Not exactly. I just saw these and thought you … you know, would like them.”

Natasha’s gaze flickered between him and the package a few times. He could almost hear her internal debate before she pulled it toward her and opened it.

She actually let out a soft huff of laughter, ripped open the bag inside and tossed a few of the wasabi peas into her mouth. He could read the pleasure in her gaze as she crunched and offered the bag to him.

----------

The telescoping cast scratcher he gave her the next day during a preliminary mission planning meeting was met with a genuine, bright smile and a sigh of relief as she immediately stuck it into her cast. Clint could swear she started purring as she scratched. The look Coulson gave them was the closest Clint had ever seen him to being fondly amused, it might also have been fondly exasperated.

----------

Since Strike Team Delta was effectively grounded while Natasha’s break healed, Clint volunteered to teach a couple of the more advanced weapons training classes. Coulson usually let him handpick a couple of agents for specialized training and he found teaching a few classes gave him a good feel for who he’d like to work with.

He was packing up his rifle at the end of his last class of the day when he saw Natasha a few lanes down from him at the range. The other shooters had given her a wide berth; there were a couple of empty lanes on either side of her.

Clint grabbed his gear and made his way over to her. She wasn’t clumsy by any means, but her movements weren’t as graceful as usual as she stripped the Sig Sauer. He was impressed at how quickly she was able to manage it with the cast.

He leaned against the wall next to her and waited until she’d set the weapon on the counter in front of her.

“How’s the arm?”

“Sore,” she admitted, then flashed him a quick grin. “But a lot less itchy.”

Clint grinned back at her. “You know I’m disappointed you chose a black cast. I was looking forward to drawing on it.”

Natasha gave him a sly smirk. “That’s why I chose a black cast.”

“I’m wounded, really wounded,” he teased as he reached into his duffle, pulled out a smallish bag, and set it on the counter next to her Sig Sauer.

“Another one?” she frowned. “What are you up to?”

He shrugged. Natasha stared at him for a few moments before peering into the bag. She reached in and pulled out one of the yellow and red wrapped candies.

“Bit-O-Honey?”

“One of my favorites as a kid.”

----------

Natasha didn’t say anything when he dropped down next to her at dinner the next evening and slid an ice cream sundae off his tray and next to her plate.

She rolled her eyes at him, but nudged the huge bowl closer to him and gestured to the spoon on his tray while picking up the spoon off her own plate to dig into the sundae.

Clint considered it a win.

----------

The following morning, he was sent out as back-up for a quick in-and-out reconnaissance op and was gone for the better part of three days.

After the mission debriefing, which was blessedly short, he went to see Natasha but she wasn’t in her quarters. He checked a few of her usual haunts and was starting to get concerned when he spotted her tucked almost out of sight in the corner of one of the atrium windows. She’d rearranged a few potted trees and made herself a quiet little alcove where she was curled up watching the snow fall in the courtyard outside.

She smiled up at him when he stopped just short of her retreat.

“Hi,” she said. “Mission go okay?”

“Boring,” he answered. She motioned him closer and he joined her on the window seat. They watched the snow for several minutes. It was peaceful and … nice, Clint decided.

“You okay?” he asked, thinking she looked a little melancholy.

“Yeah,” she said. “Just tired of being stuck here. Fury’s got me doing some translating, so I’m not bored out of my mind, but I’m feeling … restless.”

“That’s understandable.”

They sat quietly for a few more moments before Clint cleared his throat and set a gift bag on the seat between them. “I, uh, got you a couple things.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes and studied him for a long moment. “What is this all about, Barton?”

“It’s just,” he started but paused, not sure how to put it into words. “It’s just … something my mom did for my brother and me when we were kids. Twelve days of Christmas, kinda. She’d finish on Christmas Eve instead of start on Christmas.” Clint felt his cheeks burning and knew he was blushing, but continued, “Just little stuff, you know, cheap, but it made things better. Made us feel special.”

“That doesn’t sound cheap to me,” Natasha said and gave his hand a quick squeeze. He squeezed back in a silent thank you and hoped she understood. She smiled softly at him, reached into the bag and pulled out a little green succulent in a small, bright yellow pot.

“It’s a hen and chicks plant,” he told her. “Easy to take care of and very hardy.”

“Hen and chicks? Really?”

“Really.”

She set the pot down and reached into the bag again, this time pulling out a paperback book. The cover was a bit worn but the spine wasn’t broken and none of the pages were dog-eared.

“The Princess Bride,” she said and sounded delighted. “I actually haven’t read it.”

“I think you’ll like it.”

Natasha thumbed through the book and skimmed the back cover before setting it aside and looking in the bag again. She hummed in delight when she took out the canister of tea leaves, Winter White Earl Grey.

She squeezed his hand again. “Thank you.”

----------

Their schedules didn’t mesh for the next few days. Fury had Natasha decrypting some high level intelligence that had unexpectedly fallen into SHIELD’s lap. She’d been spending long hours locked away in the director’s office utilizing his private secure network.

Meanwhile, Coulson rotated Clint in as a substitute instructor for close-quarters combat and small weapons training for the new recruit classes. Coulson had a brutal sense of humor and enjoyed throwing wrenches into the training routine, said it kept everyone sharp.

Clint called in a favor with Phil and had him send a text when Natasha was done for the evening. He gave her time to get back to her quarters and unwind before he showed up, arms laden with take-out from his favorite tandoori place.

Natasha didn’t hesitate to let him in, breathing deeply as he passed her. “Is that tandoori chicken?”

He grinned at her as he put the bags down on her coffee table, carefully nudging her hen and chicks out of the way. “It is, the best in town.”

He set out the various take-out boxes while she grabbed utensils and a couple of drinks from her kitchenette. They settled on the couch and enjoyed the spicy meal. Clint tried to figure out what Fury had her working on, his guesses becoming more and more outrageous, but she resolutely refused to tell him.

After they finished their tandoori chicken and the spiced cake balls he’d gotten for dessert, Clint handed her another gift bag.

The eye roll this time was definitely in good humor, but it gave way to a look of confusion when she pulled out a DVD.

“It’s a classic,” he explained as he took it from her, getting up and going over to her TV to set up the movie. “It’s just not Christmas without Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”

“But isn’t it a kid’s movie?” she asked, her doubtful tone making him turn around to look at her.

“Well, sure. But it’s still a classic.”

There was something about the tilt of her head and the little wrinkle in her brow that caught his attention. “Haven’t you seen it?”

She straightened and said rather tersely, “No.”

He was getting better at reading her; the tone of voice and look in her eyes clearly said she was expecting some kind of derision or teasing from him.

“Well,” he said, rubbing his hands together, and going back to setting up the movie, “you’re in for a real treat.”

Natasha cleared her throat as he finished with the DVD player and settled back on the couch. She’d dug further into the gift bag and was holding the box of hair dye that had been under the movie.

“How did you know?”

“Hey,” he said, mock indignation clear in his voice, “I notice things. Hawkeye, remember?”

“But,” she asked, firmer this time, “how did you know?”

“Well,” he answered, “you only scowled at that awful platinum dye job they gave you every time you caught sight of it.”

She actually looked abashed but recovered quickly. “And the color?”

He grinned. “That I guessed, but it looked close to your natural red. Guess I got it right.”

Natasha frowned and waggled her casted arm at him.

Clint’s grin grew bigger, “I’m also offering my services as personal stylist for the evening.”

----------

Christmas Eve found Clint once again knocking on Natasha’s door, gift bag in hand. She answered so quickly that he suspected she was expecting him. She smiled widely and hurried him inside. There was a big, brightly colored gift bag on the floor next to her coffee table. The table itself was covered in what must have been half a dozen plates of different cookies.

“Are you throwing a party?” he asked, wondering if he’d interrupted her plans.

“Not exactly,” she answered and lightly pushed him toward the couch. “Go sit down.”

She headed to her kitchenette and that’s when he noticed the baking pans and mixing bowls in her sink.

“Did you make all of these?” He knew he sounded incredulous and winced when she turned to face him.

“Yes,” she answered as she poured something out of a pot on the stove into a couple of mugs. “And they’re fantastic, make sure you try each kind.”

“I didn’t know you baked.” He settled on the couch and picked up the biggest cookie he saw. It had chocolate chips, both milk and white, and little mini red and green M&Ms sprinkled throughout. He took a bite and groaned; it was fantastic. “Oh, god, Natasha, I think I love you.”

She just smirked and set one of the mugs down in front of him. “Then wait until you try this.”

As she went back to get her own mug, he took a careful sip of the hot drink and sighed in pleasure. “This is the best hot chocolate I’ve ever had.”

He took another big sip and relaxed further into the couch. “Will you marry me?”

Natasha snorted as she sat down beside him and took a sip of her own hot chocolate. “No,” she answered, voice crisp and proper.

Clint pressed a hand to his heart. “Ouch, that hurt.”

“What did you expect,” she said, “you didn’t get down on one knee and I don’t see a ring anywhere.”

“I’ll remember that for next time,” he said, sipping again. “But seriously this is amazing.”

He thought he saw her cheeks flush a little, but he didn’t mention it. Clint reached for another cookie, one he recognized as a Russian tea cake, and it was even better than the chocolate chip cookie.

Natasha reached into the big gift bag next to her and handed him a metallic silver Sharpie with a bright red bow on it. He took it from her but raised an eyebrow in question.

The flush grew and she cleared her throat, “I just thought you’d want … you know,” she trailed off but raised her casted arm toward him.

He laughed, scooted closer to her, and set her arm in his lap. He uncapped the marker and thought for a moment or two before starting to draw.

“Don’t make me beat you with my cast,” Natasha warned. He just grinned up at her.

After several minutes of drawing, he put the pen down and let her see the finished product. Around the wrist of the cast and extending a few inches up the arm, he’d drawn an intricate, lace-like pattern. Swirls and curlicues interspersed with geometric designs.

“Clint,” she said, “it’s beautiful. I didn’t know you were an artist.”

“Not an artist,” he answered and he could tell his cheeks were flushed now. “It’s just all angles and patterns, stuff I’m good at.”

“Well, it’s still beautiful. Thank you.”

Her praise lit something warm and pleasant in his chest. It felt a little like something was thawing out inside him. He met her gaze and felt a spark, a connection. Her expression was open and warm.

Before he could do something stupid and make a complete ass of himself, Clint grabbed the gift bag he’d set down and handed it to her. “Last one, since it’s Christmas Eve.”

Natasha smiled happily at him and pulled out the tissue paper wrapped bundle. When she peeled the paper away, her hands shook a little and he thought he heard her sniffle. She ran a finger along the brightly painted face of the Matryoshka doll and took a deep breath before looking up at him. He didn’t say anything about the suspicious wetness in her eyes.

“It’s,” she started and took another breath, “she’s perfect.”

“She reminded me of you,” he said and meant it. The wooden doll was painted with red hair, green eyes, and a perfect cupid’s bow mouth. Even though it was so stereotypically Russian, he hadn’t been able to resist getting it for her.

She wiped at her eyes, set the doll down next to her hen and chicks, and rubbed her hands on her jeans. Clint reached for another couple of cookies and sipped at his hot chocolate, giving her a moment.

Natasha picked up the big gift bag and set it in his lap. “For you.”

Clint grinned and dug into the bag. There were a couple different flavors of beef jerky sticks, corn nuts, circus peanuts, a DVD of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and the Island of Misfit Toys, and a six-pack of his favorite micro-brew. “This is awesome, thanks!”

The last thing he pulled out was a tacky, gaudy red and green elf hat that had a sprig of mistletoe dangling off it and he immediately put it on. “Mistletoe, Natasha. Now you have to kiss me.”

Natasha rolled her eyes but Clint could see the good humor in her expression. She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Merry Christmas, Clint.”

“Merry Christmas, Tasha.”