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It had been a good idea in theory, and if he hadn't been a full-time agent for the last dozen years, he might have considered it time to hang up his quiver and move on. Nobody would've blamed him. He'd skirted death after a dance with mind control and a hardcore infiltration of HYDRA bases; and this time, the end nearly came at the top of a giant, floating city moonlighting as a meteor.
This job got strange at times, to say the least.
At first, civilian life became catching up with the farm house and helping Laura with the kids. The arrival of Nathaniel Barton whipped the world into the normal flurry of activity, but as the 3 AM feedings became less and less, Clint found he had more time on his hands and fewer things available to fill it. That was when the home renovations took a turn for the worse.
The sunroom experiment became the bathroom debate and as he stared through a giant, gaping hole in the bathroom floor, the distraught look in Laura's eyes as she peered back at him told him all he needed to know. Lila giggled and Cooper issued a, "Whoa, cool," but Laura seemed to be pleading with her husband. Fix the damn thing, Clint. And please give the renovations a rest for now.
Chagrined, the archer took the next two weeks to repair the mess he had made, taking a short detour into the world of plumbing before hanging up the nail gun. A stroll around the farm and a glance at the old, rusted out tractor brought to mind Tony Stark. The log pile brought to mind his fellow Avenger's tete-a-tete with Steve Rogers, and as he spoke with Natasha over the phone, he heard reports of how the Maximoff twins were doing and felt a pang of longing. As he pulled out the bow and quiver, and shot at the targets he'd set up in the backyard, he frowned at himself, being confronted with reality.
He missed the action. He missed Natasha. And his conversations with his estranged partner in crime left something hanging in the air, as though there was more running through her mind than she might have been letting on. It was after dinner that night that he blurted the comment out to Laura without giving the matter any pause.
"I'm thinking about heading out to New York to see if I can help out there."
The conversation which followed lasted much longer and packing his bags took on heavier undertones than the flippant assertion might have alluded toward. He knew what he faced each and every time he geared up and ran into the face of danger. These days, he wasn't a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, he was an ordinary human without the money, serum, or powers to contend against this brave new world in which they resided, but he couldn't bring himself to believe his usefulness had ended. Maybe he would get injured again. Maybe he might become compromised or used or thrown into the clutches of something that could very well crush him. But it was where he belonged, he told himself.
They needed him, and more importantly, he needed them. And that was the end of the debate.
By the time the next week rolled around, he found himself standing outside the newly-formed Avengers Facility, looking up at the building in front of him with a mixture of apprehension and conviction. This wasn't a spy mission anymore. Or a base infiltration. For all he knew, the next great battle would involve something else they'd never seen or experienced again.
In some ways, though, he had returned to his second home.
Clint Barton couldn't have been more pleased.
This job got strange at times, to say the least.
At first, civilian life became catching up with the farm house and helping Laura with the kids. The arrival of Nathaniel Barton whipped the world into the normal flurry of activity, but as the 3 AM feedings became less and less, Clint found he had more time on his hands and fewer things available to fill it. That was when the home renovations took a turn for the worse.
The sunroom experiment became the bathroom debate and as he stared through a giant, gaping hole in the bathroom floor, the distraught look in Laura's eyes as she peered back at him told him all he needed to know. Lila giggled and Cooper issued a, "Whoa, cool," but Laura seemed to be pleading with her husband. Fix the damn thing, Clint. And please give the renovations a rest for now.
Chagrined, the archer took the next two weeks to repair the mess he had made, taking a short detour into the world of plumbing before hanging up the nail gun. A stroll around the farm and a glance at the old, rusted out tractor brought to mind Tony Stark. The log pile brought to mind his fellow Avenger's tete-a-tete with Steve Rogers, and as he spoke with Natasha over the phone, he heard reports of how the Maximoff twins were doing and felt a pang of longing. As he pulled out the bow and quiver, and shot at the targets he'd set up in the backyard, he frowned at himself, being confronted with reality.
He missed the action. He missed Natasha. And his conversations with his estranged partner in crime left something hanging in the air, as though there was more running through her mind than she might have been letting on. It was after dinner that night that he blurted the comment out to Laura without giving the matter any pause.
"I'm thinking about heading out to New York to see if I can help out there."
The conversation which followed lasted much longer and packing his bags took on heavier undertones than the flippant assertion might have alluded toward. He knew what he faced each and every time he geared up and ran into the face of danger. These days, he wasn't a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, he was an ordinary human without the money, serum, or powers to contend against this brave new world in which they resided, but he couldn't bring himself to believe his usefulness had ended. Maybe he would get injured again. Maybe he might become compromised or used or thrown into the clutches of something that could very well crush him. But it was where he belonged, he told himself.
They needed him, and more importantly, he needed them. And that was the end of the debate.
By the time the next week rolled around, he found himself standing outside the newly-formed Avengers Facility, looking up at the building in front of him with a mixture of apprehension and conviction. This wasn't a spy mission anymore. Or a base infiltration. For all he knew, the next great battle would involve something else they'd never seen or experienced again.
In some ways, though, he had returned to his second home.
Clint Barton couldn't have been more pleased.
