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be_compromised2021-12-20 10:20 pm
inkvoices) wrote in be_compromised2021-12-20 10:20 pm
Entry tags:
Secret Santa: The Pentateuch (Five Christmases, Five Beginnings, Five Golden Rings)
A Gift From: quietlyimplode
Title: The Pentateuch (Five Christmases, Five Beginnings, Five Golden Rings)
4 times Clint and Natasha needed the other (+ the one time they didn’t)
A Gift For:sgteam14283
Rating: M
Warnings/Choose Not To Warn: choose not to warn (angst, hurt/comfort, farm family, Yelena)
Summary/Prompt Used: Four times Clint/Nat needed the other and One Time They Didn't.
The power is out due to a natural disaster that is not life threatening. The problem is, everything in the fridge and freezer is going to go to waste if we don’t eat it.
Author's Note: I hope that this is something around what you were thinking, your prompts slightly got away from me. I hope you have the happiest of holidays.
The Pentateuch (Five Christmases, Five Beginnings, Five Golden Rings)
4 times Clint and Natasha needed the other (+ the one time they didn’t)
1/ The Rheingold - The First Christmas
“I don’t get it.”
She turns to face him, the Christmas tree looming behind her, making her seem small.
Clint frowns.
“What do you mean, you don’t get it?”
He feels it coming before she even says it, knows she’s going to drop a bombshell of her past, that comes out nonchalant but makes him feel anger in the depths of his soul for her.
“Why you celebrate Christmas?”
The creases of his brow furrow harder.
“Why we celebrate…?” He pauses, taking in her words. Her little shrug and look away tells him all he needs to know. “Natasha, have you ever celebrated Christmas?”
He swears he sees her face flush, as she looks down and away.
“Never mind,” she mumbles.
He catches up to her quick stride and opens the door to the debrief room.
“Get in,” he ushers, and this time it’s her turn to frown.
“Do you celebrate other things?” He asks; maybe it’s not as bad as what he thinks. He’s known her two years, but the time he’s known her she’s always volunteered for missions at Christmas so he’d just assumed… he’d just assumed that she had some trauma around the holidays… Not that she didn’t understand it.
Maybe?
Maybe it’s not what he thinks.
“Hanukkah?” He questions, he chastises himself silently for not knowing other religions or if there’s something specific that former Russian spies celebrate.
She turns back to the door. “Forget I asked,” she says clearly.
He catches her arm, stops her escape and reads the danger and vulnerability in her as he drops it and lets her leave.
.
Clint can’t sleep.
Her words running through his head. Christmas is the one time of year he likes. He contemplates taking her home, but feels it would be too much, or maybe not enough of an introduction?
He thinks about his favourite parts of Christmas.
The lights.
Decorating.
The food.
Stupid Christmas movies.
Giving gifts.
He wonders if any of these things have ever been a part of her experience. He feels low when he thinks of the antithesis of these things, and what trauma is attached.
Food; always a contentious issue between them.
Movies; no old Disney movies; he knows that now, he hasn’t asked about anything else.
Gifts; he wishes he didn’t have to know why she has triggers around that.
But.
Decorating… making a space her own, that might be a way to start the conversation about why he celebrates Christmas.
He makes a call.
She needs him more this Christmas than his family does.
And he wants to show her the truth of his reasons for celebrating, not just what she might read about, the religious connotations and the societal obligations.
He can give her that.
Some hope maybe, that the world isn’t all bad.
.
He’s in her kitchen when she gets back from the gym.
It’s not unusual, but the smell is. It smells like… it smells like Subway.
The sweet smell of cookies permeates as she looks over and finds Clint in an apron in her kitchen.
“I need to change my locks,” She announces her presence as he startles hard.
She drops her keys in the bowl and he holds his hands up in surrender.
“Christmas cookies,” he says, by way of hello.
She knew he wouldn’t let it go.
Wishes she’d never said anything.
“Look at the table,” he prompts.
There’s lights, garlands, tinsel and other Christmas paraphernalia that seems garish.
“Everywhere else is decorated but this place looks like the time Christmas forgot,” he starts.
“Can we decorate?” He says it carefully, quietly, like he doesn't know how she’s going to react.
The question hangs as she doesn’t really know what to say. She gets what he’s doing and whilst she knows it’s four days to Christmas, she’s not feeling anything towards it.
He’s trying to get her in the spirit.
She still doesn’t get it.
Conceptually she does, the religiousness, but she knows he’s agnostic so it doesn’t even make sense.
He stands close.
“I’ll help,” he nudges, “I’ll help you.”
He picks up the lights and starts whilst she watches.
Clint hangs them gently, clipping them up at the windows, making a garland pattern across her roof.
He motions for her to come over and makes her switch on the light.
It’s pretty.
She concedes that; the lights dance on the floor and the roof. He turns off the main lights and the colours gently light up the room even more.
“Oh,” she breathes, the words unbidden from her mouth.
“Yeah,” He smiles, looking at her in wonder.
.
Two days to Christmas, and he’s knocking on her door again. He holds up two DVD cases and he laughs at her confusion
“Home Alone?”
“One and two!” He laughs again gleefully.
Clint moves inside, takes his shoes off and grabs one of the cookies he’d baked; pleased that some are gone.
“Movie night, Nat, get comfortable.”
“What if I have plans?”
“Everyone has gone home for Christmas or is frantically packing to leave, who you going to have plans with?”
“Myself?”
Clint scoffs.
“And pass on hanging out with me?”
She rolls her eyes.
He makes himself comfortable, turning on the Christmas lights (that she hasn’t taken down), and putting popcorn in the microwave. She frowns a little at how comfortable he’s become in her space.
“Come on, Natasha, sit down, get comfortable.”
As she sits on the small two seater, she’s uncomfortably aware of just how small the seat is; so she angles her body facing him; knees to chest and splits her attention between him and the movie.
It would be so much easier if she felt affection like other people did, but her relationship with love and emotion, she knows, is different. The more she’s here, the more she reads, the more she learns. She trusts her feelings and she knows; there’s differences.
He glances at her and laughs.
“Stop watching the lights, and watch the small child get left behind.” He grins at her confusion; and points to the screen; narrating the movie as he usually does.
She sinks in the couch and pulls the blanket over herself.
.
Natasha doesn’t see him on the 23rd, but he sends a message and tells her he’ll be over at midday the next day. She looks up what one traditionally does on Christmas Day and concedes that she will in fact have to get him a gift.
She hopes that he doesn’t read too much into it.
She ends up at the plant store, not really sure, and she must look it as she stares a bunch of smaller plants that look cool.
“They’re lucky, you know?” comes a female voice.
She turns to find a worker, likely no older than 20 pointing at the small tree like plants.
“Bonsai Trees,” she repeats, “they’re lucky. They make a good gift too.”
Natasha laughs.
“That obvious?”
The girl smiles back.
“You’re not the first person to walk around aimlessly only to end up here.”
Pointing at the trees, they pick one out together and She can’t quite articulate how thankful she is.
When she’s back in the car, she can’t place the feeling.
It’s akin to hope, she thinks, likening it in a way to how she felt when he offered her a way out, a dulled version of that maybe. A hope that he likes the present, maybe that he sees her more than a project and perhaps as a friend.
She drives and music plays in the car; it’s only as she parks that she realises she’s been listening to Christmas music the entire way; too lost in her thoughts to notice.
Ejecting the CD, she finds that Clint’s made her a Christmas playlist.
.
Clint knocks, his Christmas Hat tickling his forehead, the other he grips tightly in his hand. His backpack is heavy with importance as she opens the door sceptically.
“No more Christmas movies,” she greets him.
He laughs.
“It’s a different kind of movie,” he promises, and holds up Die Hard.
She rolls her eyes and mutters, opening the door wide to let him in.
“It’s Christmas Eve, Nat, wear this!” And he throws the Christmas hat at her. She catches it and almost throws it at his face.
“No thanks.”
He shrugs, undeterred.
Placing his backpack carefully on the table she sits up next to him as he unpacks it.
“We’re cooking,” he deadpans, pulling a turkey out of his Mary Poppins bag.
“No,” she shakes her head.
“Yes.”
He gives her a piece of paper with a recipe on it.
“I’ve never done this before, you read the instructions, I’ll do the cooking. Deal?”
There’s a pit, a curl in Natasha’s gut at his words.
Why would he want to share this with her?
“What would you usually be doing?” She asks, “if you weren’t babysitting me?”
He looks up at her, sharp eyes and glare that pierces her, making her shrink at the intensity.
“I am not babysitting you,” he says immediately.
And she believes him.
This friendship, or whatever their relationship is, is something different and more than anything she’s felt.
She bites her lip and takes a chance at looking at him.
“You need me,” his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, “who else is going to teach you the meaning behind Christmas, Scrooge McDuck?”
It’s another reference she doesn’t understand and she feels she can’t answer.
She’s starting to get it, the feelings behind Christmas, and it’s his fault.
“What would you be doing?” she asks again.
He sets up everything on the table and shrugs, “Dinner with my brother's family, maybe visiting friends in Iowa? Not sure, it varies depending on how I’m feeling or the mood I’m in. Sometimes I’ve had to go on a mission. I don’t mind, it allows me to see how other cultures celebrate.”
She senses the sadness in the statement but doesn’t comment on it.
“We going to make this or what?”
Natasha pushes the turkey closer to him.
“I think you need to put that in the fridge,” she tells him.
.
It’s not that they’re unsuccessful, but the turkey isn’t the best. They eat it anyway; and she’s so full that halfway through the movie she dozes.
The sound of the phone alarm alerts her and he touches her hand gently.
“Nat?”
“Hey, Nat?”
She murmurs in response; grumpy he’s interrupted a peaceful doze.
“Nat? It’s Christmas. Merry Christmas.”
He gets up and she wakes fully, looking at the clock that now reads midnight.
She looks to her room where his bonsai sits, and feels apprehension as her feet take her to get it.
It feels dumb now. Who gets someone a plant? Even if it’s supposed to be lucky.
She presents it to him shyly, not looking him in the eye as she does so.
“Merry Christmas Clint.”
“You got me a gift?” He asks, obviousness in the statement and wonder in his voice.
“Look,” he says gently.
She does.
He opens it in front of her and grins big.
“Who’d you talk to?” He asks, pulling the bonsai out of the bag.
“What do you mean?”
He pushes a bag towards her and she opens it tentatively, finding a similar bonsai inside.
She laughs, some of the apprehension gone as she pulls it out.
“They’re lucky, you know?”
Clint laughs with her, “the lady tell you that?”
She nods.
“I think, then, we got served by the same one.”
“I love it, Nat, thank you.”
She nods again, “me too.”
She gently lifts the tiny tree and puts it on the table, admiring the delicate leaves.
He smiles, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You can stay?” She tells him. “You’re here any way.”
He looks at her warily.
“Stay,” she assures.
“It’s Christmas.”
.
2/ The Valkyrie
Clint slams the door, annoyance in every action. He knows she’s on the plane and coming back, but it’s cutting it close.
Fury knew they had to be on the plane at 5pm. She’s going to get here and they’re going to have to leave straight away, and he’s sure that she hasn’t even packed.
He dumps some of her clothes that she’s left in his apartment and hopes it’s enough.
Glancing at the time, he picks his keys up, grabs his bag and leaves.
.
From the moment he sees Natasha, he knows they’re going to miss the flight.
She’s holding it together, but somethings wrong. He doesn’t know if it’s her gait, or the way she’s looking around; hyper vigilance marking her movements.
Something’s wrong.
She signs something and hands the pen and paper back, disembarks and raises her eyebrows at him when she sees him.
He smiles, worry curling in his gut.
“Not here,” she cuts him off, striding past him.
He follows her, apprehension curling, making itself known; not for the first time.
It’s in the car, that the first cracks appear.
She can’t hold a conversation.
She repeats herself.
He doesn’t push it.
He avoids asking what happened because she’s clearly not talking about it.
Natasha asks to stop home.
She’s forgotten about the flight.
It’s not like her to lose information and he doesn’t mention it.
They arrive at her home at 5.20 and he’s gotta call Laura and let her know what’s happening.
She bee lines for the bathroom and he lets her go, sitting on the couch and dialling a number he knows by heart.
“We’re not on the flight,” he opens.
There’s silence on the other end, so he continues.
“I think something’s happened. I think she forgot…” he leaves the thought hanging because he knows Laura will know what that means.
“Where is she now?”
Clint rubs his hand over his face, and hears the shower running.
“In the shower.”
He wants to explain the feelings of worry but he doesn’t know how. He thinks she feels it anyway. “She’s… she’s not good Laur,” he goes with, hoping it conveys something.
“Just bring her home,” comes his wife’s measured response, concern clear.
“You think you can make your family Christmas later on?”
He knows she won’t be able to handle anyone, if it’s as bad as what he thinks.
“Yeah, I’ll make something up.”
He wants to apologise but knows she’ll wave it off. She loves Natasha as much as he does.
“Cooper will be so excited to see you both,” she breaks the silence.
He laughs, he misses his son.
“He’s two, what does he know?” He always worries that he’s going to forget about him.
He wonders if it’s possible. Laura assures him it’s not.
There’s a crash in the bathroom and his heart stops.
“Hun, I gotta go, I’ll call you when we’re on the way.”
It’s a rushed goodbye as he knocks on the door. He jiggles the handle and it opens easily.
“I’m fine, Clint,” comes the softly spoken voice, as he enters, towel wrapped around her.
Looking around, he can see where she’s thrown her hair brush at the mirror, the tiny splintering of the mirror in the corner.
“Yeah?” He asks, not convinced.
“Who were you talking to?” She asks.
“Laura.”
He sees the realisation dawn on her face.
“It’s Christmas Eve,” her breath quickens. “We were supposed to be on the flight.”
He nods.
“No. Nononono..” She backs up until her legs hit the toilet. Sinking down her head drops in her hands.
“I ruined it, I’ve ruined Christmas,” she looks up at him, sorrowfully.
“I am so sorry.”
Clint squats in front of her.
“You’ve not ruined anything,” he tells her, taking her hands. “Honest.”
“I did.. Oh. Cooper.”
She bites down on her lip, and he can see she’s not letting tears fall. The full onslaught of emotions must be hitting her hard.
“Nat, listen to me. You’ve not ruined it.”
He leaves her to collect herself and hands her clothes he gathers. Sends a text and gets one back almost immediately.
“Would you be ok with traveling now?” he asks, “I have a plan.”
There’s a non verbal air about her as she nods, like words are too hard and far beyond her reach.
They need to get home.
Gently, he directs her back to the car, plays soft Christmas music and sends another message to Laura as they arrive back to the quinjets in the airfield.
Fury meets them, and hands over the keycard and keys, bidding them a happy holidays. Natasha doesn’t make eye contact and Fury doesn’t comment. Clint doesn’t want to know right now. She still hasn’t spoken a word since she said his son’s name.
They’re somewhere over the south of Iowa ten minutes from touchdown, as the clock moves to Christmas Day.
He kisses the crown of her head and her cheek in quick succession as he always does.
“Merry Christmas, Natasha,” he says.
But she doesn’t say it back. The dissociation is holding. He hopes Laura can be his Christmas miracle.
He guides the plane down.
He forgets.
He forgets what his house looks like at Christmas.
“Look Nat, Look.”
Clint almost laughs in sheer delight as the Christmas lights his wife has put almost in every section of the house lights their way home.
He gets her up and out, and they both stand and stare at the base of the house, despite the cold that permeates their skin.
Laura greets them and ushers them inside, kissing them both in greeting.
“Come inside,” she says redundantly.
The fire is on, the Christmas tree lit up and it smells like baked cookies.
It’s grounding.
Clint hopes it is for Natasha too.
Laura leads her to the warmth of the couch, sits close to her and waves Clint away.
He picks up their bags and drops Natasha’s in her room, smiles at what Laura has done and then drops the other bag in their room.
He moves to see Cooper and grins at his chubby cheeks as his eyes stay shut even amongst all the noise they must have made.
Clint sits on the stairs outside his son’s room, and watches Laura work magic.
She’s making Natasha wrap presents.
The gentle movements as she guides her hand, telling her where to hold, to tape, to cut. It’s repetitive, mesmerizing, and slowly, so slowly, it breaks Natasha out of the thick fog he knows she’s fighting through.
He doesn’t know how long he watches, but when Natasha finally speaks words of apologies, he watches Laura grasp her hands and kiss the top of each.
“You didn’t ruin Christmas, Natasha. You could never. You’re here. You’re both safe.”
He can’t stay away, wanting to reassure her too, the mystery of the mission still at the back of his mind, knowing all this angst is not due to the perception of her ruining Christmas.
She watches him sharply as he pulls out two DVDs.
“Die hard?” He asks, and it’s the first time he’s seen her smile.
Laura groans and Natasha nods.
He’s glad that some traditions can be upheld.
He steps over the wrapping mess and Laura tells Natasha to go and get the baked cookies, milk, and anything else from the kitchen. She knows, or must feel, that it’s unlikely Natasha has eaten anything.
All they can do is repair and support and they both know this. Natasha will either tell them or she won’t, but he does wish she would say more than just apologies.
The opening of the movie plays and Clint makes sure she’s firmly situated between them. He passes food to her as she becomes more engrossed, she unconsciously eats.
He smiles at his own sneakiness.
By the time of the final act, her eyes are closed, her head resting against Laura’s as they both appear to be asleep.
He moves quietly, packing away the presents and adding his own, gently lays a blanket on them and adds more logs to the fire.
“I really am sorry,” comes the quiet voice.
He squats in front of her, gently touching her arm.
“Hey, go back to sleep,” he soothes.
His heart swells at the trust she displays as she does as he asks, burrowing deeper in the blanket. He hopes the gentleness of a family Christmas supports her and, despite how their break has begun, they have time to decompress.
He sighs, goes to his bag and pulls out three presents.
There’s another in his bag, wrapped in newspaper; it falls open as he pulls it out.
She’s framed a photo that they took at Easter, she’s holding Cooper with Laura holding her hand and Clint behind both of them. He didn’t even know that she had the photo, but sees how dear it must be.
He hugs it’s to his chest as he rummages for tape to put it back together.
Laura, he’s sure, is going to cry when she sees it.
He turns off the outside lights, puts away the food and checks on Cooper one last time.
With all the people he loves most in this world asleep under the one roof, or as close as they’re going to get, he sets up the blanket in front of the fire and closes his eyes.
Home at last.
.
3/ The Siegfried
Natasha is frantic.
Fucking Fury, and his fucking rules.
She can’t believe what she’s hearing.
They’re not allowing her to get Clint. He’s still within mission parameters, even though he’s clearly in trouble: all but sending an SOS.
She knows Clint. There’s no way he would have sent that message if he hadn’t really needed help, and Fury had just brushed it off like Clint would be so callous…
She feels Black Widow stir in her gut as she bites down on her lip to suppress the rage.
She knew she didn’t trust them.
Would never trust them, especially after Rotterdam.
She leaves the compound, almost growling as she gets in the car; emotions akin to powerlessness flowing through her.
But she’s not.
Her gun sits heavy in her lap and a thousand scenarios run through her head.
Avoiding the tail that Fury had clearly put on her, Natasha parks the car and then changes her mind leaving straight away for the safe house in Brooklyn.
Disarming the door and heading inside, she books the next flight to Korea; she concedes that she will likely need help.
The safe that sits under the rug operates by retinal scan and she pulls the burner phone and cash from it.
Taking a deep breath and the courage of the gods she doesn’t believe in, she dials the only number saved to the SIM card.
It rings twice and she hangs up.
She calls again.
It rings three times and she hangs up.
Dialling the number for the final time she lets it ring until a voice she’s missed so much, answers.
“I need your help,” she says straight away, cutting off any snarky remarks about not contacting her for a couple of months.
“Why, you got in trouble in your fun little agency?”
Yelena’s voice is playful and Natasha is too stressed to take it on.
“Can you meet me at Busan airport? Near the donut shop in..” she looks at her watch, “twelve hours?”
There’s a pause.
“Can’t your avenger friends help?”
Natasha sighs.
Tony is repairing relationships with Pepper, he’d come if she asked but she doesn’t want to. Steve is visiting Sam’s family and Maria’s on the plane for a much needed rest in New Zealand. This is not for them.
“It can be your Christmas present to me.”
Yelena’s guffaw travels through the phone and it turns into a choking laugh.
“Christmas? Christmas, Natasha?”
She feels her cheeks go red.
“Will you come?”
There’s an affirmative note on Yelena’s voice and Natasha packs up again, giving her the mission specs quickly, leaving out some details. She knows of Clint, but they’ve never met. Clint knows of her, and she doubts this is how he wanted to meet.
She wonders idly if she’s made the wrong decision. Whether she should have gone by herself, or maybe asked Tony. Biting the inside of her lip, she drives the car to the nearest parking lot and then catches a taxi to the airport.
She’s going to get Clint, and bring him home for Christmas.
.
She missed working with Widows. It’s something she never thought she’d think, but it’s true.
Yelena knows exactly what she’s doing without having to verbalize it, Natasha reads her movements and the non verbal communication that was drilled into them as children almost makes this mission… fun.
Yelena runs and takes out two of the three guards as Natasha stuns the last and they both smile when a fourth appears, Natasha running past Yelena to take him out.
“Two each, even,” she whispers.
Yelena shakes her head, “I got the one in the watchtower, 3-2. You’re getting old, big sister,” she whispers back.
Natasha chooses to ignore her as they continue down the building's guts, not feeling the usual dread of missions and hopes it’s a good thing.
“He should be in the sixth room on the left, if the optics are correct,” she shows the readout on the led display. She thinks it’s his heat signature.
Yelena stands watch as she lock picks the door, overloads the circuitry and the door slides open.
He does not look great.
Tied to a chair, topless with electrodes stuck to his forehead, his glance at her and grim grin at the realisation she’s come; makes her feel like she should have taken out more.
Yelena helps as they heave him up, and frogmarch him out.
.
“I have a safe house in Gwanwan,” Yelena offers.
Natasha looks at Clint, the bruising on his torso and intermittent tremors that pulse through his body and she knows he is in no fit state for travel.
She nods.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, it’ll be fun, my sister and her boyfriend in my safe house for Christmas.” She rolls her eyes.
Natasha knows Yelena is ribbing her deliberately, to perhaps ease some of the tension of the moment but she’s just feeling too much and there’s no space for humor.
.
It’s as uneventful as it can be, getting to Gwanwan; and as they deposit Clint in the bed; Yelena heaves a sigh.
“It’s never dull with you, is it?”
Clint’s been in and out, helping them and himself as much as he can, orienting between both Yelena and Natasha.
His remarks land flat, as when he talks his voice is hoarse, tell-tale signs of yelling and screaming, and they both remind him to kindly shut up.
Enamoured by Yelena, he grins at her and says something about Natasha being bossy; to which she laughs and puts a finger to her lips.
Now that they’re here and safe, Clint seems to know he can just pass out, and he does, as Natasha sets to tending to his wounds; cleaning them and patching them gently. Yelena sees the unspoken trust and the way they speak without words and leaves quietly to pick up food as Clint pulls her close to lock their heads together.
She feels like she’s intruding on a moment or a ritual that she’s not entitled to see.
.
By the time Yelena is back, Natasha is in the shower and Clint is asleep, or so she thinks.
“Thank you,” the male voice calls, the gravelly cadence makes her look his way as she unpacks the food. He sits up, holding his ribs; looking at her intently.
“Hungry?” She asks in dismissal.
“She’ll never say how much she loves you and wanted to protect you from all of this,” he groans as he lays back down.
It’s the only Christmas present Yelena has ever wanted and she turns away to school her face. She shakes her head and dishes food out.
She flits between knowing Natasha is not her sister and wanting it to be true with all her heart.
He’s not done.
“It’s not the drugs talking, and it’s not my place, but I suspect you’re like her,” he laughs, “slightly emotionally constipated.”
Despite the initial betrayal, the slow build of trust and the hard work they’ve got to this point - the point where they call each other in emergencies; Yelena knows she would like something more. Clint’s words hit her in a place she long thought dead.
She motions for him to sit up.
“It’s not American Christmas food, but it’s all I could find.”
He accepts it readily, the Bulgogi steaming hot. She sits on the bed next to him.
“What else has she said about me?”
Clint looks at her sombrely.
“Ask her.”
They make eye contact and laugh.
They both know Natasha will never be forward with her emotions or thoughts unless pushed into it.
Clint puts down the food, and looks at Yelena.
“She gets you something for Christmas every year,” he pauses, “or has at least since we started exchanging gifts and going shopping for them.”
She frowns.
He thinks.
“It’s small things, sometimes earrings, sometimes something blue, sometimes it’s from a country we’ve been to like a random souvenir.”
He pauses.
“She has an ornament for you on our Christmas tree at home,” he confesses.
It’s too much, Yelena furiously swipes at her eyes, standing and turning to the kitchen.
“Sorry. Too much?” He asks.
Natasha steps through the door.
“Is what too much?”
Clint smiles and looks up.
“Too much food,” he covers; holding the bowl to Natasha as she takes it from him and sits on the floor next to the bed, eating it slowly. Yelena imitates her movements and sits across from her, lifting her bowl as Natasha does and matching her movements.
“What do you usually do for Christmas?” Yelena asks.
Natasha looks to her; a glance and a nod from Clint and she passes the food back to him.
“We cook, and watch Die Hard,” Natasha smiles.
Yelena laughs, “what’s a die hard?”
She imagines it to be a film about women trying too hard to do something, always trying to get the next best thing. She’s surprised when Clint explains the plot, and Natasha joins in enthusiastically.
What started as Natasha needing to help Clint, has turned into one of the most memorable nights of Yelena's life.
The night passes, as it turns into the day after Christmas, but it still feels like Christmas magic has lived here.
There’s a difference in the air as Yelena leaves, and it’s not the spontaneous hug that Natasha gives.
“Call me? Ok?” Yelena whispers into Natasha’s ear, and the nod and squeeze is nothing short of a Christmas miracle.
.
4/ “Twilight of the Gods.” Götterdämmerung
Natasha holds Christmas Eve as sacred, perhaps more so than Christmas Day.
The fact that she’s stranded in Japan with a tsunami warning and no flights leaving, just makes her feel sad.
It doesn’t help that Clint’s in Texas without power and freezing in their apartment overlooking the park. At least she’s warm and has the hospitality of strangers.
“You’re not going to get here, are you?” He answers the FaceTime call. Her black hair makes her look tired as she moves to turn on the lights.
“No.
They knew it would be tight, both of them on different missions but the plan to meet on Christmas Eve would have been achievable, if it wasn’t for natural disasters and wild weather.
“Global warming sucks,” he mutters as he moves to the fridge. She sees him open it and close it again. It’s likely he’s been pacing and has done it many times. The power has obviously been out for a while.
“How much food is in the fridge?” She asks.
Clint opens it again and shows her inside.
“I got everything,” he says, his voice sad.
She feels his pain, she hates food waste.
“Even the turkey?” She asks redundantly.
“Even the turkey.”
Natasha gets up and looks into her mini fridge.
“How much can you eat?” she asks, closing it again, rolling her eyes that she’s copying his mannerisms.
“What?”
She grins.
“Don’t let it go to waste, how much can you eat?”
The thought of him eating everything in the fridge is comical, and whilst it doesn’t fix anything, it would help her feel that at least one of them can enjoy the foods that they both only eat at this time of the year.
“Umm, I don’t know?”
He turns the phone around so she can see the weather, it looks so dark, the storms and snow blanketing everything.
“You’re safe?” She asks, actual concern flooding through her, flashes of being frozen in the snow a visceral memory.
“Yeah it’s just cold,” and he looks it too, bundled in a coat and beanie.
Natasha has a thought.
“The bbq?” She blurts.
Clint turns the phone to look at her quizzically.
“What?”
“Turn on the bbq,” it’s a good idea, she knows.
“Nat; you want me to cook a turkey in the bbq?” He says it like she’s an idiot.
“Yes.”
He shakes his head.
“No.”
“It runs on gas, you need heat, and to eat the food, what else is there to do?” she spells it out for him, stating her case.
His face goes comical as he opens the fridge again.
“What else is in there?”
He turns up his nose.
“Ugh, Caviar.”
The delight on her face is short lived as she realises she can’t have any.
“You got it?”
He nods, holding it up.
“Yeah; for you.” He also seems to realise the predicament.
“You’re going to have to eat it!”
Natasha lays on the bed, and holds him above her head.
He’s almost indignant as he shoves it back in the fridge.
“What? No!”
She laughs. “Yes!”
Natasha feels she should chide him for continually opening and closing the fridge but she’s not one to talk.
“What are you going to eat?” He asks.
She grabs the sushi out and holds it up and looks at her watch.
“It’s almost time,” she smiles.
He looks at his watch. “Ten minutes.”
“You’ve got your laptop?”
She nods.
“Yours?”
He holds up the iPad.
“Charged?”
He holds up a power bank that Stark gave them last Christmas.
“You need to start cooking,” she prompts.
Clint considers her.
Undoes the cupboard and drags out the barbecue and gas cylinder.
“Can I do this inside?” He wonders idly.
Natasha shrugs and takes a bite of her sushi.
He does it anyway, taking down the smoke detectors, and lighting the pilot.
“The turkey’s not going to fit,” she says redundantly.
He nods.
They talk through a plan of cooking, Clint carefully preparing all the food in the fridge.
He pauses and looks up.
“Merry Christmas Natasha,” he smiles.
She wipes her mouth.
“Merry Christmas, Clint Barton.”
She smiles at her own joke.
“You ready?”
They both turn on their devices and the movie loads, the familiar opening scenes helps to dampen some of the anxiety that’s been pulsing through both of them.
“John McClane ain’t got nothing on us,” Natasha laughs.
“Do you want to know what Maria said the other day?”
Clint takes the foiled potato out and puts the Turkey in carefully.
She nods, finishing off the last of her dinner.
“Well, if you watch Die Hard straight after Love Actually, Alan Rickman gets punished for what he did to Emma Thompson.”
She laughs.
“I guess?”
The movie continues as Clint cooks and Natasha quotes the movie, repeating lines like she does with Bond movies.
Clint loves it.
The systematic process brings them both calm, although they’re not together the traditions hold true.
The chaos of earthquakes and snowstorms, has nothing on the chaos of their lives and so the rituals they’ve built they both abide by.
It’s safety, love and support all rolled into one.
.
+1 - Plus One. Together.
“Natasha, relax,” Clint rolls her eyes as she opens the door again. He sees it for what it is, the low level anxiety of something new; maybe the start of something good.
“Go play catch with Cooper,” he suggests, looking at the window and seeing his kids play.
“She’ll be here soon,” Natasha says, almost like a question.
“You think she’ll come?” She whispers it to herself, an unspoken plea that there’s change coming, almost hope.
“Of course.” He smiles. If she doesn’t, he’ll kill her himself.
.
“You didn’t think I’d come.”
Yelena hugs Natasha, and head-butts her gently, stepping off the jet, her one eyed dog following her sheepishly.
Cooper is delighted, and Lila patting him, oblivious to how momentous this moment is.
“Yes I did,” Natasha says indignantly.
“No you didn’t,” Yelena argues.
Laura steps forward, the exchange is not heated, but both Clint and Laura are far too protective of Natasha to
let it go on.
Natasha knows; feels Laura by her side and turns to introduce them.
“Laura, this is Yelena, Yelena this is Laura.”
Yelena steps forward, and Laura does exactly the same thing she did when she first met Natasha. She hugs her, deep and crushing. She feels the initial pull away but holds tight, and then feels the melt and soft pat back.
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” she whispers.
“I would have had you over earlier, but I didn’t know you existed.”
Laura lets her go and smiles.
“Likewise,” Yelena laughs, watching as Natasha squats to pat her dog.
.
Christmas Eve rolls into Christmas Day with the help of wine and vodka and a healthy dose of food.
The kids are asleep, and Natasha is laying on the floor, Yelena on the couch, and Clint and Laura tucked together on the two seater. Die Hard is playing idly on the tv, it’s perhaps the second time rolling.
“We should go to bed,” Clint yawns, “the kids will be up in like five hours anyway.”
“Then why not just stay awake?” Yelena’s accent thicker under the vodka makes Natasha mock her and pass over some leftover baklava.
“What was Christmas like when you were little?” Yelena asks Laura pointedly.
There’s been hazing questions all night, and Laura doesn’t mind. It reminds her so much of when they just started with Natasha.
She smiles and tells a story of family coming over, Father Christmas and eating too much. Natasha stares at her like a kid, and Yelena looks confused.
Clint watches them both as he listens to his wife describe baking biscuits and gets up. He picks up the fresh cookies, puts them at the door, taking a bite of each before moving away.
Yelena looks quizzically at him, but doesn’t comment.
“Did you ever celebrate Christmas?” Laura asks Yelena.
“No.”
The answer is absolute.
Natasha feels the tension rise as she sits up. She answers for Yelena, likely telling stories that even Yelena doesn’t know.
Clint’s never asked Natasha about her relationship with Christmas, even after all these years. She’s never volunteered the information and he’s never wanted to bring up bad memories.
“One year, one of the girls, Ana, got sent to Belgium, and she bought back chocolate. She told stories of Christmas markets and celebrations.”
She says the names like Yelena knows and they can almost pretend that it was something stupid that happened at a boarding school. “I think we were seven?”
A quiet silence falls over them all. Natasha shrugs.
“As we grew older, we became more used to other traditions, they made sure to teach us so that we could use it against targets.”
Yelena laughs, it’s misplaced but makes Natasha grin too. Laura puts it down to the Vodka.
“There was a girl, Jace,” Yelena starts, “she could make the guards do anything”
They all know what that means.
“We knew something was different at the end of the year. Sometimes they’d be kinder, there were times when they would give us more food, and others when they’d forget to handcuff us. Jace took full advantage of it, and snuck out.”
Natasha looks at her astonished.
Yelena nods.
“She came back with a small Christmas tree and ornaments. She wouldn’t say where she got it from, but she took it apart and gave us all one from the tree and left it for the guards to see.”
Natasha feels like she knows what’s coming next.
“They asked us where it came from and we called it a Christmas miracle. The guards didn’t want to say that they didn’t lock us up, so they let it go.”
Clint grins.
Natasha laughs.
Laura looks sad.
“Did you get to keep the ornament?” She asks, knowing the answer.
Yelena shakes her head and the room falls quiet.
Nodding, Natasha responds with a like story although this one ends with her looking more forlorn than when she started.
“She was my friend,” she finishes.
Laura stands and turns to wipe a tear away, under the ruse of clearing the table. Clint helps and gives her a quick hug. He forgets that Natasha’s stories hit home especially because of the matter of fact way she presents the information.
She perhaps cognitively understands that others feel pity for her but she tries to negate it by giving only the facts. Somehow, without the emotion, it makes it worse.
Clint and Laura move away, leaving Yelena and Natasha in easy conversation; for them anyway.
.
As promised, the kids are up as soon as the sun rises. Yelena’s dog sits happily playing in the wrapping paper, the adults tired and with some aspects of being hungover start the day lazily, playing with the toys the children received.
Natasha starts making breakfast as Laura comes to join her.
They look over to where Yelena allows Lila to sit on her lap, she’s moved her twice but Lila insists on sitting on her; touching her hair, twisting it in her small hands.
“I like your sister,” Laura smiles.
Natasha spontaneously grabs her hand.
“Thanks,” she says sincerely, “for this; for all of this.”
She hears her take a shaky breath.
“I don’t think this would have happened without you.”
Laura feels the weight of her words; all that they’ve been through, the care and healing of assassins is, and continues to not be an easy life; but it’s not one she would ever change.
“Perhaps,” she tells her kindly, “or maybe it would have worked out in a different way.”
Natasha shakes her head.
“You made this family, and now include mine in it,” she pauses, biting her lip, “thank you doesn’t seem enough.”
Laura tightens her hand in Natasha’s.
“You never need to thank me,” she says fiercely, enveloping Natasha in a hug.
.
She finds Yelena outside on the porch swing, her dog on her lap as she strokes his ears absently.
“I like your family,” Yelena says quietly.
“Yeah, I do too.”
Natasha shoves the dog across and sits next to her, they swing in silence, thoughts lost on both of them.
“I have something for you,” she tells Yelena, passing across a small package.
Opening it carefully, Yelena smiles in pure delight. The dagger is the size of her forearm, the hilt is crusted in a pattern with deep blue markings all the way through, the patterned grip textured. The blade is marked with the same patterning.
“Japanese steel?”
Natasha nods, pleased that the first present she’s ever given her sister is one of value.
“I love it,” Yelena runs her finger on the patterning and her eyes full with unshed tears. “Thank you.”
Shrugging, Natasha continues to rock the seat, the movement regulating.
“I got you something too,” Yelena admits, “but it’s not…” she pauses and holds up the knife, “this.”
They hold each other’s gaze until Yelena pulls out a small package and tentatively hands it over.
Natasha opens it reverently.
The tiny gold frame sits around the picture of them as children, the picture that reunited them, the picture that got them back together.
Natasha feels the swelling of emotion and feels a tear slip down her cheek. She makes no move to wipe it away.
“Thank you,” her voice cracks.
“You’re welcome,” Yelena replies, a half smile on her lips at the emotions she’s not used to seeing.
.
The sun sets as the day comes to a close, the amount of food that has been consumed has felt neverending, and Natasha can’t help but think of all the people she would have loved to have shared this with; some alive, some dead, some unknown.
As she looks across the room to her surrogate children, to Laura and Yelena talking quietly and takes Clint by the hand and drags him into the next room.
“Thank you for letting her come,” Natasha says as she bumps shoulders with Clint.
Clint cocks his head.
“Christmas is for family, right? It doesn’t matter if it’s those you’re born with or those you choose.”
Natasha nods.
“I just had to say it, in case…”
Clint frowns.
“In case what?”
“I don’t know, in case there’s a time that I’m not here? You’ll still have her here? She needs this.. You? Laura? Just like I did…”
Clint hates this conversation. It feels so nihilistic.
“Where you planning to go? Huh?”
Natasha smiles.
“Don’t worry, I’ll outlive you.”
Clint grins back.
“You better.”
.
“Show me the ornament,” Yelena directs Clint, pointing to the 6ft decorated tree. It’s dark outside and Natasha, Cooper, Lila and Laura are under the lights.
Clint laughs, knowing she never forgot the conversation in Korea.
“Ok,” he smiles. “Can you guess?”
Yelena looks at the tree, she points to the bauble that has the black widow symbol on it, the glitter long since gone.
He shakes his head.
“Nah, that one Lila did at school.”
Yelena wonders at the luck of her sister that there’s little girls that look up to her as much as this, that they’d create for her and love her enough for presents.
She takes in the tree, and looks up.
There’s an angel ornament, with blonde hair and looks like it’s well loved, older and up high so no little hands can reach it.
“Is it that?” She points and Clint stands to take it down.
“Yeah,” he smiles.
He looks it over, and then turns it in Yelena’s hand. She sees Natasha’s chicken scratch handwriting, written on the back, like she’d written it to not forget something important.
“For all the Christmases missed, always in my heart and mind.”
“Who knew she was so good with words,” Clint smiles.
Yelena snort laughs, overcome with emotions as she gently caresses it, then putting it back reverently as high as she can. She bites her lip.
“Thank you for teaching her about Christmas,” she whispers, “if you hadn’t, I don’t think I’d be here, physically anyway.”
Clint knows what she’s getting at, sometimes kindness has unforeseen consequences, this is one of them.
.
“I wish they both didn’t have the histories they do,”Laura remarks sadly, passing Clint the clean mug. He huffs a breath.
“Me too,” he sighs. “It feels like they go through one hell to be hit with another, and there’s no peace whatever they do.”
The two assassins are sitting with the two children, playing Mouse Trap, delight on Natasha’s face as she teases Yelena about coming last. He knows they’re not related but there are so many similarities between them.
Some mannerisms, the hyper vigilance, the way they’re both so protective of Lila or of the gentle innocence of both children.
“They need us,” he concludes.
Laura looks too.
“We need them,” she adds.
He knows she’s right.
“Everybody needs somebody, lonely assassins aren’t any different.” He surmises.
“Bring them home as much as possible, okay? This feels like a calm before the storm.”
Clint looks at Laura confused, wondering if she feels something coming, the uncanny knack and psychic sense she seems to have.
“New traditions?”
“New traditions”
quietlyimplodeTitle: The Pentateuch (Five Christmases, Five Beginnings, Five Golden Rings)
4 times Clint and Natasha needed the other (+ the one time they didn’t)
A Gift For:
sgteam14283Rating: M
Warnings/Choose Not To Warn: choose not to warn (angst, hurt/comfort, farm family, Yelena)
Summary/Prompt Used: Four times Clint/Nat needed the other and One Time They Didn't.
The power is out due to a natural disaster that is not life threatening. The problem is, everything in the fridge and freezer is going to go to waste if we don’t eat it.
Author's Note: I hope that this is something around what you were thinking, your prompts slightly got away from me. I hope you have the happiest of holidays.
4 times Clint and Natasha needed the other (+ the one time they didn’t)
1/ The Rheingold - The First Christmas
“I don’t get it.”
She turns to face him, the Christmas tree looming behind her, making her seem small.
Clint frowns.
“What do you mean, you don’t get it?”
He feels it coming before she even says it, knows she’s going to drop a bombshell of her past, that comes out nonchalant but makes him feel anger in the depths of his soul for her.
“Why you celebrate Christmas?”
The creases of his brow furrow harder.
“Why we celebrate…?” He pauses, taking in her words. Her little shrug and look away tells him all he needs to know. “Natasha, have you ever celebrated Christmas?”
He swears he sees her face flush, as she looks down and away.
“Never mind,” she mumbles.
He catches up to her quick stride and opens the door to the debrief room.
“Get in,” he ushers, and this time it’s her turn to frown.
“Do you celebrate other things?” He asks; maybe it’s not as bad as what he thinks. He’s known her two years, but the time he’s known her she’s always volunteered for missions at Christmas so he’d just assumed… he’d just assumed that she had some trauma around the holidays… Not that she didn’t understand it.
Maybe?
Maybe it’s not what he thinks.
“Hanukkah?” He questions, he chastises himself silently for not knowing other religions or if there’s something specific that former Russian spies celebrate.
She turns back to the door. “Forget I asked,” she says clearly.
He catches her arm, stops her escape and reads the danger and vulnerability in her as he drops it and lets her leave.
.
Clint can’t sleep.
Her words running through his head. Christmas is the one time of year he likes. He contemplates taking her home, but feels it would be too much, or maybe not enough of an introduction?
He thinks about his favourite parts of Christmas.
The lights.
Decorating.
The food.
Stupid Christmas movies.
Giving gifts.
He wonders if any of these things have ever been a part of her experience. He feels low when he thinks of the antithesis of these things, and what trauma is attached.
Food; always a contentious issue between them.
Movies; no old Disney movies; he knows that now, he hasn’t asked about anything else.
Gifts; he wishes he didn’t have to know why she has triggers around that.
But.
Decorating… making a space her own, that might be a way to start the conversation about why he celebrates Christmas.
He makes a call.
She needs him more this Christmas than his family does.
And he wants to show her the truth of his reasons for celebrating, not just what she might read about, the religious connotations and the societal obligations.
He can give her that.
Some hope maybe, that the world isn’t all bad.
.
He’s in her kitchen when she gets back from the gym.
It’s not unusual, but the smell is. It smells like… it smells like Subway.
The sweet smell of cookies permeates as she looks over and finds Clint in an apron in her kitchen.
“I need to change my locks,” She announces her presence as he startles hard.
She drops her keys in the bowl and he holds his hands up in surrender.
“Christmas cookies,” he says, by way of hello.
She knew he wouldn’t let it go.
Wishes she’d never said anything.
“Look at the table,” he prompts.
There’s lights, garlands, tinsel and other Christmas paraphernalia that seems garish.
“Everywhere else is decorated but this place looks like the time Christmas forgot,” he starts.
“Can we decorate?” He says it carefully, quietly, like he doesn't know how she’s going to react.
The question hangs as she doesn’t really know what to say. She gets what he’s doing and whilst she knows it’s four days to Christmas, she’s not feeling anything towards it.
He’s trying to get her in the spirit.
She still doesn’t get it.
Conceptually she does, the religiousness, but she knows he’s agnostic so it doesn’t even make sense.
He stands close.
“I’ll help,” he nudges, “I’ll help you.”
He picks up the lights and starts whilst she watches.
Clint hangs them gently, clipping them up at the windows, making a garland pattern across her roof.
He motions for her to come over and makes her switch on the light.
It’s pretty.
She concedes that; the lights dance on the floor and the roof. He turns off the main lights and the colours gently light up the room even more.
“Oh,” she breathes, the words unbidden from her mouth.
“Yeah,” He smiles, looking at her in wonder.
.
Two days to Christmas, and he’s knocking on her door again. He holds up two DVD cases and he laughs at her confusion
“Home Alone?”
“One and two!” He laughs again gleefully.
Clint moves inside, takes his shoes off and grabs one of the cookies he’d baked; pleased that some are gone.
“Movie night, Nat, get comfortable.”
“What if I have plans?”
“Everyone has gone home for Christmas or is frantically packing to leave, who you going to have plans with?”
“Myself?”
Clint scoffs.
“And pass on hanging out with me?”
She rolls her eyes.
He makes himself comfortable, turning on the Christmas lights (that she hasn’t taken down), and putting popcorn in the microwave. She frowns a little at how comfortable he’s become in her space.
“Come on, Natasha, sit down, get comfortable.”
As she sits on the small two seater, she’s uncomfortably aware of just how small the seat is; so she angles her body facing him; knees to chest and splits her attention between him and the movie.
It would be so much easier if she felt affection like other people did, but her relationship with love and emotion, she knows, is different. The more she’s here, the more she reads, the more she learns. She trusts her feelings and she knows; there’s differences.
He glances at her and laughs.
“Stop watching the lights, and watch the small child get left behind.” He grins at her confusion; and points to the screen; narrating the movie as he usually does.
She sinks in the couch and pulls the blanket over herself.
.
Natasha doesn’t see him on the 23rd, but he sends a message and tells her he’ll be over at midday the next day. She looks up what one traditionally does on Christmas Day and concedes that she will in fact have to get him a gift.
She hopes that he doesn’t read too much into it.
She ends up at the plant store, not really sure, and she must look it as she stares a bunch of smaller plants that look cool.
“They’re lucky, you know?” comes a female voice.
She turns to find a worker, likely no older than 20 pointing at the small tree like plants.
“Bonsai Trees,” she repeats, “they’re lucky. They make a good gift too.”
Natasha laughs.
“That obvious?”
The girl smiles back.
“You’re not the first person to walk around aimlessly only to end up here.”
Pointing at the trees, they pick one out together and She can’t quite articulate how thankful she is.
When she’s back in the car, she can’t place the feeling.
It’s akin to hope, she thinks, likening it in a way to how she felt when he offered her a way out, a dulled version of that maybe. A hope that he likes the present, maybe that he sees her more than a project and perhaps as a friend.
She drives and music plays in the car; it’s only as she parks that she realises she’s been listening to Christmas music the entire way; too lost in her thoughts to notice.
Ejecting the CD, she finds that Clint’s made her a Christmas playlist.
.
Clint knocks, his Christmas Hat tickling his forehead, the other he grips tightly in his hand. His backpack is heavy with importance as she opens the door sceptically.
“No more Christmas movies,” she greets him.
He laughs.
“It’s a different kind of movie,” he promises, and holds up Die Hard.
She rolls her eyes and mutters, opening the door wide to let him in.
“It’s Christmas Eve, Nat, wear this!” And he throws the Christmas hat at her. She catches it and almost throws it at his face.
“No thanks.”
He shrugs, undeterred.
Placing his backpack carefully on the table she sits up next to him as he unpacks it.
“We’re cooking,” he deadpans, pulling a turkey out of his Mary Poppins bag.
“No,” she shakes her head.
“Yes.”
He gives her a piece of paper with a recipe on it.
“I’ve never done this before, you read the instructions, I’ll do the cooking. Deal?”
There’s a pit, a curl in Natasha’s gut at his words.
Why would he want to share this with her?
“What would you usually be doing?” She asks, “if you weren’t babysitting me?”
He looks up at her, sharp eyes and glare that pierces her, making her shrink at the intensity.
“I am not babysitting you,” he says immediately.
And she believes him.
This friendship, or whatever their relationship is, is something different and more than anything she’s felt.
She bites her lip and takes a chance at looking at him.
“You need me,” his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, “who else is going to teach you the meaning behind Christmas, Scrooge McDuck?”
It’s another reference she doesn’t understand and she feels she can’t answer.
She’s starting to get it, the feelings behind Christmas, and it’s his fault.
“What would you be doing?” she asks again.
He sets up everything on the table and shrugs, “Dinner with my brother's family, maybe visiting friends in Iowa? Not sure, it varies depending on how I’m feeling or the mood I’m in. Sometimes I’ve had to go on a mission. I don’t mind, it allows me to see how other cultures celebrate.”
She senses the sadness in the statement but doesn’t comment on it.
“We going to make this or what?”
Natasha pushes the turkey closer to him.
“I think you need to put that in the fridge,” she tells him.
.
It’s not that they’re unsuccessful, but the turkey isn’t the best. They eat it anyway; and she’s so full that halfway through the movie she dozes.
The sound of the phone alarm alerts her and he touches her hand gently.
“Nat?”
“Hey, Nat?”
She murmurs in response; grumpy he’s interrupted a peaceful doze.
“Nat? It’s Christmas. Merry Christmas.”
He gets up and she wakes fully, looking at the clock that now reads midnight.
She looks to her room where his bonsai sits, and feels apprehension as her feet take her to get it.
It feels dumb now. Who gets someone a plant? Even if it’s supposed to be lucky.
She presents it to him shyly, not looking him in the eye as she does so.
“Merry Christmas Clint.”
“You got me a gift?” He asks, obviousness in the statement and wonder in his voice.
“Look,” he says gently.
She does.
He opens it in front of her and grins big.
“Who’d you talk to?” He asks, pulling the bonsai out of the bag.
“What do you mean?”
He pushes a bag towards her and she opens it tentatively, finding a similar bonsai inside.
She laughs, some of the apprehension gone as she pulls it out.
“They’re lucky, you know?”
Clint laughs with her, “the lady tell you that?”
She nods.
“I think, then, we got served by the same one.”
“I love it, Nat, thank you.”
She nods again, “me too.”
She gently lifts the tiny tree and puts it on the table, admiring the delicate leaves.
He smiles, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You can stay?” She tells him. “You’re here any way.”
He looks at her warily.
“Stay,” she assures.
“It’s Christmas.”
.
2/ The Valkyrie
Clint slams the door, annoyance in every action. He knows she’s on the plane and coming back, but it’s cutting it close.
Fury knew they had to be on the plane at 5pm. She’s going to get here and they’re going to have to leave straight away, and he’s sure that she hasn’t even packed.
He dumps some of her clothes that she’s left in his apartment and hopes it’s enough.
Glancing at the time, he picks his keys up, grabs his bag and leaves.
.
From the moment he sees Natasha, he knows they’re going to miss the flight.
She’s holding it together, but somethings wrong. He doesn’t know if it’s her gait, or the way she’s looking around; hyper vigilance marking her movements.
Something’s wrong.
She signs something and hands the pen and paper back, disembarks and raises her eyebrows at him when she sees him.
He smiles, worry curling in his gut.
“Not here,” she cuts him off, striding past him.
He follows her, apprehension curling, making itself known; not for the first time.
It’s in the car, that the first cracks appear.
She can’t hold a conversation.
She repeats herself.
He doesn’t push it.
He avoids asking what happened because she’s clearly not talking about it.
Natasha asks to stop home.
She’s forgotten about the flight.
It’s not like her to lose information and he doesn’t mention it.
They arrive at her home at 5.20 and he’s gotta call Laura and let her know what’s happening.
She bee lines for the bathroom and he lets her go, sitting on the couch and dialling a number he knows by heart.
“We’re not on the flight,” he opens.
There’s silence on the other end, so he continues.
“I think something’s happened. I think she forgot…” he leaves the thought hanging because he knows Laura will know what that means.
“Where is she now?”
Clint rubs his hand over his face, and hears the shower running.
“In the shower.”
He wants to explain the feelings of worry but he doesn’t know how. He thinks she feels it anyway. “She’s… she’s not good Laur,” he goes with, hoping it conveys something.
“Just bring her home,” comes his wife’s measured response, concern clear.
“You think you can make your family Christmas later on?”
He knows she won’t be able to handle anyone, if it’s as bad as what he thinks.
“Yeah, I’ll make something up.”
He wants to apologise but knows she’ll wave it off. She loves Natasha as much as he does.
“Cooper will be so excited to see you both,” she breaks the silence.
He laughs, he misses his son.
“He’s two, what does he know?” He always worries that he’s going to forget about him.
He wonders if it’s possible. Laura assures him it’s not.
There’s a crash in the bathroom and his heart stops.
“Hun, I gotta go, I’ll call you when we’re on the way.”
It’s a rushed goodbye as he knocks on the door. He jiggles the handle and it opens easily.
“I’m fine, Clint,” comes the softly spoken voice, as he enters, towel wrapped around her.
Looking around, he can see where she’s thrown her hair brush at the mirror, the tiny splintering of the mirror in the corner.
“Yeah?” He asks, not convinced.
“Who were you talking to?” She asks.
“Laura.”
He sees the realisation dawn on her face.
“It’s Christmas Eve,” her breath quickens. “We were supposed to be on the flight.”
He nods.
“No. Nononono..” She backs up until her legs hit the toilet. Sinking down her head drops in her hands.
“I ruined it, I’ve ruined Christmas,” she looks up at him, sorrowfully.
“I am so sorry.”
Clint squats in front of her.
“You’ve not ruined anything,” he tells her, taking her hands. “Honest.”
“I did.. Oh. Cooper.”
She bites down on her lip, and he can see she’s not letting tears fall. The full onslaught of emotions must be hitting her hard.
“Nat, listen to me. You’ve not ruined it.”
He leaves her to collect herself and hands her clothes he gathers. Sends a text and gets one back almost immediately.
“Would you be ok with traveling now?” he asks, “I have a plan.”
There’s a non verbal air about her as she nods, like words are too hard and far beyond her reach.
They need to get home.
Gently, he directs her back to the car, plays soft Christmas music and sends another message to Laura as they arrive back to the quinjets in the airfield.
Fury meets them, and hands over the keycard and keys, bidding them a happy holidays. Natasha doesn’t make eye contact and Fury doesn’t comment. Clint doesn’t want to know right now. She still hasn’t spoken a word since she said his son’s name.
They’re somewhere over the south of Iowa ten minutes from touchdown, as the clock moves to Christmas Day.
He kisses the crown of her head and her cheek in quick succession as he always does.
“Merry Christmas, Natasha,” he says.
But she doesn’t say it back. The dissociation is holding. He hopes Laura can be his Christmas miracle.
He guides the plane down.
He forgets.
He forgets what his house looks like at Christmas.
“Look Nat, Look.”
Clint almost laughs in sheer delight as the Christmas lights his wife has put almost in every section of the house lights their way home.
He gets her up and out, and they both stand and stare at the base of the house, despite the cold that permeates their skin.
Laura greets them and ushers them inside, kissing them both in greeting.
“Come inside,” she says redundantly.
The fire is on, the Christmas tree lit up and it smells like baked cookies.
It’s grounding.
Clint hopes it is for Natasha too.
Laura leads her to the warmth of the couch, sits close to her and waves Clint away.
He picks up their bags and drops Natasha’s in her room, smiles at what Laura has done and then drops the other bag in their room.
He moves to see Cooper and grins at his chubby cheeks as his eyes stay shut even amongst all the noise they must have made.
Clint sits on the stairs outside his son’s room, and watches Laura work magic.
She’s making Natasha wrap presents.
The gentle movements as she guides her hand, telling her where to hold, to tape, to cut. It’s repetitive, mesmerizing, and slowly, so slowly, it breaks Natasha out of the thick fog he knows she’s fighting through.
He doesn’t know how long he watches, but when Natasha finally speaks words of apologies, he watches Laura grasp her hands and kiss the top of each.
“You didn’t ruin Christmas, Natasha. You could never. You’re here. You’re both safe.”
He can’t stay away, wanting to reassure her too, the mystery of the mission still at the back of his mind, knowing all this angst is not due to the perception of her ruining Christmas.
She watches him sharply as he pulls out two DVDs.
“Die hard?” He asks, and it’s the first time he’s seen her smile.
Laura groans and Natasha nods.
He’s glad that some traditions can be upheld.
He steps over the wrapping mess and Laura tells Natasha to go and get the baked cookies, milk, and anything else from the kitchen. She knows, or must feel, that it’s unlikely Natasha has eaten anything.
All they can do is repair and support and they both know this. Natasha will either tell them or she won’t, but he does wish she would say more than just apologies.
The opening of the movie plays and Clint makes sure she’s firmly situated between them. He passes food to her as she becomes more engrossed, she unconsciously eats.
He smiles at his own sneakiness.
By the time of the final act, her eyes are closed, her head resting against Laura’s as they both appear to be asleep.
He moves quietly, packing away the presents and adding his own, gently lays a blanket on them and adds more logs to the fire.
“I really am sorry,” comes the quiet voice.
He squats in front of her, gently touching her arm.
“Hey, go back to sleep,” he soothes.
His heart swells at the trust she displays as she does as he asks, burrowing deeper in the blanket. He hopes the gentleness of a family Christmas supports her and, despite how their break has begun, they have time to decompress.
He sighs, goes to his bag and pulls out three presents.
There’s another in his bag, wrapped in newspaper; it falls open as he pulls it out.
She’s framed a photo that they took at Easter, she’s holding Cooper with Laura holding her hand and Clint behind both of them. He didn’t even know that she had the photo, but sees how dear it must be.
He hugs it’s to his chest as he rummages for tape to put it back together.
Laura, he’s sure, is going to cry when she sees it.
He turns off the outside lights, puts away the food and checks on Cooper one last time.
With all the people he loves most in this world asleep under the one roof, or as close as they’re going to get, he sets up the blanket in front of the fire and closes his eyes.
Home at last.
.
3/ The Siegfried
Natasha is frantic.
Fucking Fury, and his fucking rules.
She can’t believe what she’s hearing.
They’re not allowing her to get Clint. He’s still within mission parameters, even though he’s clearly in trouble: all but sending an SOS.
She knows Clint. There’s no way he would have sent that message if he hadn’t really needed help, and Fury had just brushed it off like Clint would be so callous…
She feels Black Widow stir in her gut as she bites down on her lip to suppress the rage.
She knew she didn’t trust them.
Would never trust them, especially after Rotterdam.
She leaves the compound, almost growling as she gets in the car; emotions akin to powerlessness flowing through her.
But she’s not.
Her gun sits heavy in her lap and a thousand scenarios run through her head.
Avoiding the tail that Fury had clearly put on her, Natasha parks the car and then changes her mind leaving straight away for the safe house in Brooklyn.
Disarming the door and heading inside, she books the next flight to Korea; she concedes that she will likely need help.
The safe that sits under the rug operates by retinal scan and she pulls the burner phone and cash from it.
Taking a deep breath and the courage of the gods she doesn’t believe in, she dials the only number saved to the SIM card.
It rings twice and she hangs up.
She calls again.
It rings three times and she hangs up.
Dialling the number for the final time she lets it ring until a voice she’s missed so much, answers.
“I need your help,” she says straight away, cutting off any snarky remarks about not contacting her for a couple of months.
“Why, you got in trouble in your fun little agency?”
Yelena’s voice is playful and Natasha is too stressed to take it on.
“Can you meet me at Busan airport? Near the donut shop in..” she looks at her watch, “twelve hours?”
There’s a pause.
“Can’t your avenger friends help?”
Natasha sighs.
Tony is repairing relationships with Pepper, he’d come if she asked but she doesn’t want to. Steve is visiting Sam’s family and Maria’s on the plane for a much needed rest in New Zealand. This is not for them.
“It can be your Christmas present to me.”
Yelena’s guffaw travels through the phone and it turns into a choking laugh.
“Christmas? Christmas, Natasha?”
She feels her cheeks go red.
“Will you come?”
There’s an affirmative note on Yelena’s voice and Natasha packs up again, giving her the mission specs quickly, leaving out some details. She knows of Clint, but they’ve never met. Clint knows of her, and she doubts this is how he wanted to meet.
She wonders idly if she’s made the wrong decision. Whether she should have gone by herself, or maybe asked Tony. Biting the inside of her lip, she drives the car to the nearest parking lot and then catches a taxi to the airport.
She’s going to get Clint, and bring him home for Christmas.
.
She missed working with Widows. It’s something she never thought she’d think, but it’s true.
Yelena knows exactly what she’s doing without having to verbalize it, Natasha reads her movements and the non verbal communication that was drilled into them as children almost makes this mission… fun.
Yelena runs and takes out two of the three guards as Natasha stuns the last and they both smile when a fourth appears, Natasha running past Yelena to take him out.
“Two each, even,” she whispers.
Yelena shakes her head, “I got the one in the watchtower, 3-2. You’re getting old, big sister,” she whispers back.
Natasha chooses to ignore her as they continue down the building's guts, not feeling the usual dread of missions and hopes it’s a good thing.
“He should be in the sixth room on the left, if the optics are correct,” she shows the readout on the led display. She thinks it’s his heat signature.
Yelena stands watch as she lock picks the door, overloads the circuitry and the door slides open.
He does not look great.
Tied to a chair, topless with electrodes stuck to his forehead, his glance at her and grim grin at the realisation she’s come; makes her feel like she should have taken out more.
Yelena helps as they heave him up, and frogmarch him out.
.
“I have a safe house in Gwanwan,” Yelena offers.
Natasha looks at Clint, the bruising on his torso and intermittent tremors that pulse through his body and she knows he is in no fit state for travel.
She nods.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, it’ll be fun, my sister and her boyfriend in my safe house for Christmas.” She rolls her eyes.
Natasha knows Yelena is ribbing her deliberately, to perhaps ease some of the tension of the moment but she’s just feeling too much and there’s no space for humor.
.
It’s as uneventful as it can be, getting to Gwanwan; and as they deposit Clint in the bed; Yelena heaves a sigh.
“It’s never dull with you, is it?”
Clint’s been in and out, helping them and himself as much as he can, orienting between both Yelena and Natasha.
His remarks land flat, as when he talks his voice is hoarse, tell-tale signs of yelling and screaming, and they both remind him to kindly shut up.
Enamoured by Yelena, he grins at her and says something about Natasha being bossy; to which she laughs and puts a finger to her lips.
Now that they’re here and safe, Clint seems to know he can just pass out, and he does, as Natasha sets to tending to his wounds; cleaning them and patching them gently. Yelena sees the unspoken trust and the way they speak without words and leaves quietly to pick up food as Clint pulls her close to lock their heads together.
She feels like she’s intruding on a moment or a ritual that she’s not entitled to see.
.
By the time Yelena is back, Natasha is in the shower and Clint is asleep, or so she thinks.
“Thank you,” the male voice calls, the gravelly cadence makes her look his way as she unpacks the food. He sits up, holding his ribs; looking at her intently.
“Hungry?” She asks in dismissal.
“She’ll never say how much she loves you and wanted to protect you from all of this,” he groans as he lays back down.
It’s the only Christmas present Yelena has ever wanted and she turns away to school her face. She shakes her head and dishes food out.
She flits between knowing Natasha is not her sister and wanting it to be true with all her heart.
He’s not done.
“It’s not the drugs talking, and it’s not my place, but I suspect you’re like her,” he laughs, “slightly emotionally constipated.”
Despite the initial betrayal, the slow build of trust and the hard work they’ve got to this point - the point where they call each other in emergencies; Yelena knows she would like something more. Clint’s words hit her in a place she long thought dead.
She motions for him to sit up.
“It’s not American Christmas food, but it’s all I could find.”
He accepts it readily, the Bulgogi steaming hot. She sits on the bed next to him.
“What else has she said about me?”
Clint looks at her sombrely.
“Ask her.”
They make eye contact and laugh.
They both know Natasha will never be forward with her emotions or thoughts unless pushed into it.
Clint puts down the food, and looks at Yelena.
“She gets you something for Christmas every year,” he pauses, “or has at least since we started exchanging gifts and going shopping for them.”
She frowns.
He thinks.
“It’s small things, sometimes earrings, sometimes something blue, sometimes it’s from a country we’ve been to like a random souvenir.”
He pauses.
“She has an ornament for you on our Christmas tree at home,” he confesses.
It’s too much, Yelena furiously swipes at her eyes, standing and turning to the kitchen.
“Sorry. Too much?” He asks.
Natasha steps through the door.
“Is what too much?”
Clint smiles and looks up.
“Too much food,” he covers; holding the bowl to Natasha as she takes it from him and sits on the floor next to the bed, eating it slowly. Yelena imitates her movements and sits across from her, lifting her bowl as Natasha does and matching her movements.
“What do you usually do for Christmas?” Yelena asks.
Natasha looks to her; a glance and a nod from Clint and she passes the food back to him.
“We cook, and watch Die Hard,” Natasha smiles.
Yelena laughs, “what’s a die hard?”
She imagines it to be a film about women trying too hard to do something, always trying to get the next best thing. She’s surprised when Clint explains the plot, and Natasha joins in enthusiastically.
What started as Natasha needing to help Clint, has turned into one of the most memorable nights of Yelena's life.
The night passes, as it turns into the day after Christmas, but it still feels like Christmas magic has lived here.
There’s a difference in the air as Yelena leaves, and it’s not the spontaneous hug that Natasha gives.
“Call me? Ok?” Yelena whispers into Natasha’s ear, and the nod and squeeze is nothing short of a Christmas miracle.
.
4/ “Twilight of the Gods.” Götterdämmerung
Natasha holds Christmas Eve as sacred, perhaps more so than Christmas Day.
The fact that she’s stranded in Japan with a tsunami warning and no flights leaving, just makes her feel sad.
It doesn’t help that Clint’s in Texas without power and freezing in their apartment overlooking the park. At least she’s warm and has the hospitality of strangers.
“You’re not going to get here, are you?” He answers the FaceTime call. Her black hair makes her look tired as she moves to turn on the lights.
“No.
They knew it would be tight, both of them on different missions but the plan to meet on Christmas Eve would have been achievable, if it wasn’t for natural disasters and wild weather.
“Global warming sucks,” he mutters as he moves to the fridge. She sees him open it and close it again. It’s likely he’s been pacing and has done it many times. The power has obviously been out for a while.
“How much food is in the fridge?” She asks.
Clint opens it again and shows her inside.
“I got everything,” he says, his voice sad.
She feels his pain, she hates food waste.
“Even the turkey?” She asks redundantly.
“Even the turkey.”
Natasha gets up and looks into her mini fridge.
“How much can you eat?” she asks, closing it again, rolling her eyes that she’s copying his mannerisms.
“What?”
She grins.
“Don’t let it go to waste, how much can you eat?”
The thought of him eating everything in the fridge is comical, and whilst it doesn’t fix anything, it would help her feel that at least one of them can enjoy the foods that they both only eat at this time of the year.
“Umm, I don’t know?”
He turns the phone around so she can see the weather, it looks so dark, the storms and snow blanketing everything.
“You’re safe?” She asks, actual concern flooding through her, flashes of being frozen in the snow a visceral memory.
“Yeah it’s just cold,” and he looks it too, bundled in a coat and beanie.
Natasha has a thought.
“The bbq?” She blurts.
Clint turns the phone to look at her quizzically.
“What?”
“Turn on the bbq,” it’s a good idea, she knows.
“Nat; you want me to cook a turkey in the bbq?” He says it like she’s an idiot.
“Yes.”
He shakes his head.
“No.”
“It runs on gas, you need heat, and to eat the food, what else is there to do?” she spells it out for him, stating her case.
His face goes comical as he opens the fridge again.
“What else is in there?”
He turns up his nose.
“Ugh, Caviar.”
The delight on her face is short lived as she realises she can’t have any.
“You got it?”
He nods, holding it up.
“Yeah; for you.” He also seems to realise the predicament.
“You’re going to have to eat it!”
Natasha lays on the bed, and holds him above her head.
He’s almost indignant as he shoves it back in the fridge.
“What? No!”
She laughs. “Yes!”
Natasha feels she should chide him for continually opening and closing the fridge but she’s not one to talk.
“What are you going to eat?” He asks.
She grabs the sushi out and holds it up and looks at her watch.
“It’s almost time,” she smiles.
He looks at his watch. “Ten minutes.”
“You’ve got your laptop?”
She nods.
“Yours?”
He holds up the iPad.
“Charged?”
He holds up a power bank that Stark gave them last Christmas.
“You need to start cooking,” she prompts.
Clint considers her.
Undoes the cupboard and drags out the barbecue and gas cylinder.
“Can I do this inside?” He wonders idly.
Natasha shrugs and takes a bite of her sushi.
He does it anyway, taking down the smoke detectors, and lighting the pilot.
“The turkey’s not going to fit,” she says redundantly.
He nods.
They talk through a plan of cooking, Clint carefully preparing all the food in the fridge.
He pauses and looks up.
“Merry Christmas Natasha,” he smiles.
She wipes her mouth.
“Merry Christmas, Clint Barton.”
She smiles at her own joke.
“You ready?”
They both turn on their devices and the movie loads, the familiar opening scenes helps to dampen some of the anxiety that’s been pulsing through both of them.
“John McClane ain’t got nothing on us,” Natasha laughs.
“Do you want to know what Maria said the other day?”
Clint takes the foiled potato out and puts the Turkey in carefully.
She nods, finishing off the last of her dinner.
“Well, if you watch Die Hard straight after Love Actually, Alan Rickman gets punished for what he did to Emma Thompson.”
She laughs.
“I guess?”
The movie continues as Clint cooks and Natasha quotes the movie, repeating lines like she does with Bond movies.
Clint loves it.
The systematic process brings them both calm, although they’re not together the traditions hold true.
The chaos of earthquakes and snowstorms, has nothing on the chaos of their lives and so the rituals they’ve built they both abide by.
It’s safety, love and support all rolled into one.
.
+1 - Plus One. Together.
“Natasha, relax,” Clint rolls her eyes as she opens the door again. He sees it for what it is, the low level anxiety of something new; maybe the start of something good.
“Go play catch with Cooper,” he suggests, looking at the window and seeing his kids play.
“She’ll be here soon,” Natasha says, almost like a question.
“You think she’ll come?” She whispers it to herself, an unspoken plea that there’s change coming, almost hope.
“Of course.” He smiles. If she doesn’t, he’ll kill her himself.
.
“You didn’t think I’d come.”
Yelena hugs Natasha, and head-butts her gently, stepping off the jet, her one eyed dog following her sheepishly.
Cooper is delighted, and Lila patting him, oblivious to how momentous this moment is.
“Yes I did,” Natasha says indignantly.
“No you didn’t,” Yelena argues.
Laura steps forward, the exchange is not heated, but both Clint and Laura are far too protective of Natasha to
let it go on.
Natasha knows; feels Laura by her side and turns to introduce them.
“Laura, this is Yelena, Yelena this is Laura.”
Yelena steps forward, and Laura does exactly the same thing she did when she first met Natasha. She hugs her, deep and crushing. She feels the initial pull away but holds tight, and then feels the melt and soft pat back.
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” she whispers.
“I would have had you over earlier, but I didn’t know you existed.”
Laura lets her go and smiles.
“Likewise,” Yelena laughs, watching as Natasha squats to pat her dog.
.
Christmas Eve rolls into Christmas Day with the help of wine and vodka and a healthy dose of food.
The kids are asleep, and Natasha is laying on the floor, Yelena on the couch, and Clint and Laura tucked together on the two seater. Die Hard is playing idly on the tv, it’s perhaps the second time rolling.
“We should go to bed,” Clint yawns, “the kids will be up in like five hours anyway.”
“Then why not just stay awake?” Yelena’s accent thicker under the vodka makes Natasha mock her and pass over some leftover baklava.
“What was Christmas like when you were little?” Yelena asks Laura pointedly.
There’s been hazing questions all night, and Laura doesn’t mind. It reminds her so much of when they just started with Natasha.
She smiles and tells a story of family coming over, Father Christmas and eating too much. Natasha stares at her like a kid, and Yelena looks confused.
Clint watches them both as he listens to his wife describe baking biscuits and gets up. He picks up the fresh cookies, puts them at the door, taking a bite of each before moving away.
Yelena looks quizzically at him, but doesn’t comment.
“Did you ever celebrate Christmas?” Laura asks Yelena.
“No.”
The answer is absolute.
Natasha feels the tension rise as she sits up. She answers for Yelena, likely telling stories that even Yelena doesn’t know.
Clint’s never asked Natasha about her relationship with Christmas, even after all these years. She’s never volunteered the information and he’s never wanted to bring up bad memories.
“One year, one of the girls, Ana, got sent to Belgium, and she bought back chocolate. She told stories of Christmas markets and celebrations.”
She says the names like Yelena knows and they can almost pretend that it was something stupid that happened at a boarding school. “I think we were seven?”
A quiet silence falls over them all. Natasha shrugs.
“As we grew older, we became more used to other traditions, they made sure to teach us so that we could use it against targets.”
Yelena laughs, it’s misplaced but makes Natasha grin too. Laura puts it down to the Vodka.
“There was a girl, Jace,” Yelena starts, “she could make the guards do anything”
They all know what that means.
“We knew something was different at the end of the year. Sometimes they’d be kinder, there were times when they would give us more food, and others when they’d forget to handcuff us. Jace took full advantage of it, and snuck out.”
Natasha looks at her astonished.
Yelena nods.
“She came back with a small Christmas tree and ornaments. She wouldn’t say where she got it from, but she took it apart and gave us all one from the tree and left it for the guards to see.”
Natasha feels like she knows what’s coming next.
“They asked us where it came from and we called it a Christmas miracle. The guards didn’t want to say that they didn’t lock us up, so they let it go.”
Clint grins.
Natasha laughs.
Laura looks sad.
“Did you get to keep the ornament?” She asks, knowing the answer.
Yelena shakes her head and the room falls quiet.
Nodding, Natasha responds with a like story although this one ends with her looking more forlorn than when she started.
“She was my friend,” she finishes.
Laura stands and turns to wipe a tear away, under the ruse of clearing the table. Clint helps and gives her a quick hug. He forgets that Natasha’s stories hit home especially because of the matter of fact way she presents the information.
She perhaps cognitively understands that others feel pity for her but she tries to negate it by giving only the facts. Somehow, without the emotion, it makes it worse.
Clint and Laura move away, leaving Yelena and Natasha in easy conversation; for them anyway.
.
As promised, the kids are up as soon as the sun rises. Yelena’s dog sits happily playing in the wrapping paper, the adults tired and with some aspects of being hungover start the day lazily, playing with the toys the children received.
Natasha starts making breakfast as Laura comes to join her.
They look over to where Yelena allows Lila to sit on her lap, she’s moved her twice but Lila insists on sitting on her; touching her hair, twisting it in her small hands.
“I like your sister,” Laura smiles.
Natasha spontaneously grabs her hand.
“Thanks,” she says sincerely, “for this; for all of this.”
She hears her take a shaky breath.
“I don’t think this would have happened without you.”
Laura feels the weight of her words; all that they’ve been through, the care and healing of assassins is, and continues to not be an easy life; but it’s not one she would ever change.
“Perhaps,” she tells her kindly, “or maybe it would have worked out in a different way.”
Natasha shakes her head.
“You made this family, and now include mine in it,” she pauses, biting her lip, “thank you doesn’t seem enough.”
Laura tightens her hand in Natasha’s.
“You never need to thank me,” she says fiercely, enveloping Natasha in a hug.
.
She finds Yelena outside on the porch swing, her dog on her lap as she strokes his ears absently.
“I like your family,” Yelena says quietly.
“Yeah, I do too.”
Natasha shoves the dog across and sits next to her, they swing in silence, thoughts lost on both of them.
“I have something for you,” she tells Yelena, passing across a small package.
Opening it carefully, Yelena smiles in pure delight. The dagger is the size of her forearm, the hilt is crusted in a pattern with deep blue markings all the way through, the patterned grip textured. The blade is marked with the same patterning.
“Japanese steel?”
Natasha nods, pleased that the first present she’s ever given her sister is one of value.
“I love it,” Yelena runs her finger on the patterning and her eyes full with unshed tears. “Thank you.”
Shrugging, Natasha continues to rock the seat, the movement regulating.
“I got you something too,” Yelena admits, “but it’s not…” she pauses and holds up the knife, “this.”
They hold each other’s gaze until Yelena pulls out a small package and tentatively hands it over.
Natasha opens it reverently.
The tiny gold frame sits around the picture of them as children, the picture that reunited them, the picture that got them back together.
Natasha feels the swelling of emotion and feels a tear slip down her cheek. She makes no move to wipe it away.
“Thank you,” her voice cracks.
“You’re welcome,” Yelena replies, a half smile on her lips at the emotions she’s not used to seeing.
.
The sun sets as the day comes to a close, the amount of food that has been consumed has felt neverending, and Natasha can’t help but think of all the people she would have loved to have shared this with; some alive, some dead, some unknown.
As she looks across the room to her surrogate children, to Laura and Yelena talking quietly and takes Clint by the hand and drags him into the next room.
“Thank you for letting her come,” Natasha says as she bumps shoulders with Clint.
Clint cocks his head.
“Christmas is for family, right? It doesn’t matter if it’s those you’re born with or those you choose.”
Natasha nods.
“I just had to say it, in case…”
Clint frowns.
“In case what?”
“I don’t know, in case there’s a time that I’m not here? You’ll still have her here? She needs this.. You? Laura? Just like I did…”
Clint hates this conversation. It feels so nihilistic.
“Where you planning to go? Huh?”
Natasha smiles.
“Don’t worry, I’ll outlive you.”
Clint grins back.
“You better.”
.
“Show me the ornament,” Yelena directs Clint, pointing to the 6ft decorated tree. It’s dark outside and Natasha, Cooper, Lila and Laura are under the lights.
Clint laughs, knowing she never forgot the conversation in Korea.
“Ok,” he smiles. “Can you guess?”
Yelena looks at the tree, she points to the bauble that has the black widow symbol on it, the glitter long since gone.
He shakes his head.
“Nah, that one Lila did at school.”
Yelena wonders at the luck of her sister that there’s little girls that look up to her as much as this, that they’d create for her and love her enough for presents.
She takes in the tree, and looks up.
There’s an angel ornament, with blonde hair and looks like it’s well loved, older and up high so no little hands can reach it.
“Is it that?” She points and Clint stands to take it down.
“Yeah,” he smiles.
He looks it over, and then turns it in Yelena’s hand. She sees Natasha’s chicken scratch handwriting, written on the back, like she’d written it to not forget something important.
“For all the Christmases missed, always in my heart and mind.”
“Who knew she was so good with words,” Clint smiles.
Yelena snort laughs, overcome with emotions as she gently caresses it, then putting it back reverently as high as she can. She bites her lip.
“Thank you for teaching her about Christmas,” she whispers, “if you hadn’t, I don’t think I’d be here, physically anyway.”
Clint knows what she’s getting at, sometimes kindness has unforeseen consequences, this is one of them.
.
“I wish they both didn’t have the histories they do,”Laura remarks sadly, passing Clint the clean mug. He huffs a breath.
“Me too,” he sighs. “It feels like they go through one hell to be hit with another, and there’s no peace whatever they do.”
The two assassins are sitting with the two children, playing Mouse Trap, delight on Natasha’s face as she teases Yelena about coming last. He knows they’re not related but there are so many similarities between them.
Some mannerisms, the hyper vigilance, the way they’re both so protective of Lila or of the gentle innocence of both children.
“They need us,” he concludes.
Laura looks too.
“We need them,” she adds.
He knows she’s right.
“Everybody needs somebody, lonely assassins aren’t any different.” He surmises.
“Bring them home as much as possible, okay? This feels like a calm before the storm.”
Clint looks at Laura confused, wondering if she feels something coming, the uncanny knack and psychic sense she seems to have.
“New traditions?”
“New traditions”
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I also liked the Texas Blackout reference and Natasha is like "Clint, you gotta eat all the food. Even the stuff you don't like."
The farm stuff was so cute, specifically the end where Natasha and Yelena are playing with Lila and it's all so cozy and gave me the fuzzy's.
Thank you so much! <3