Chapter Text
Maya
“Barton, you’ve got a visitor.”
Eliot is poking his head into the open door of my trailer. I’m sitting on the hand-me-down twin mattress, icing my right hand. The stitching on my old shooting glove finally gave way this afternoon, and I had to do the whole show bare-handed.
I don’t get visitors after every show. We stayed a full week in Louisiana one year, and I still have friends there who stop by when we’re in town. And there was a boy in Montana who quite literally tried to follow the caravan to Calgary a few weeks ago. But usually it’s just locals who want to gawk and marvel at the circus performers.
“Where did you learn to shoot like that?”
“Can I hold your bow?”
“Can I try it”
“You look so much younger up close”
“Where are your parents?”
They mean well, but I honestly don’t have the energy or the patience tonight. “Tell them I’m indisposed,” I tell Eliot, without looking up from my swollen hand. I hear him step outside and relay the message to whatever disappointed tourist wanted a moment alone with the World’s Greatest Archer.
“Why don’t I just say hello - I’m sure she wouldn’t want to hurt my feelings.” I know that voice…
I’m up and opening the door with my good hand before I can stop myself. Eliot turns around to look at me, and there she is. Natasha Romanoff, standing at the foot of my steps. Eliot’s a tall guy, and he has the advantage of standing at the top of the stairs - but Nat still has a ballet dancer’s posture, and it makes her look taller than him anyway.
“You know this lady?” Eliot asks me. Nat hasn’t visited me in a while. She has that same knowing smile, the same twinkle in her eye - but her hair is shorter than the last time I saw her, and she seems to be missing the air of easy confidence that she usually carries.
“She’s a friend of my brother’s,” I shrug, and turn to go back inside.
“That was a nice show, kid,” Nat says after shutting the door behind her. There isn’t much space in here - besides the bed, there’s just enough room for my small dresser, a locked chest where I keep my favorite bow and a few defense arrows (most of my performance equipment is in the props trailer), and a desk and chair where I used to do my homeschool work. I gesture for Nat to sit in the chair, but she keeps hovering by the door. She looks uncomfortable - a color I’ve never seen on Natasha before. It’s unsettling to see her unsettled.
“You don’t have to pretend, Nat. I know Clint just sent you to check up on me.” I flex my sore hand, and toss the melting ice pack into the trash.
“That’s not exactly how I’d put it,” she said, chewing on the inside of her cheek.
“How would you put it then?” I asked. “Look, I’m staying in and reading like a good little girl.” I grab a book off of the small pile on the dresser and open it in front of my face, dangling my head off the side of the bed with my feet propped up on the wall.
“We need you to come in.”
That pulls me up short. “What do you mean ‘come in’?” I sit myself upright and put the book away. I get off the bed and start busying myself with unlocking the trunk and counting my inventory of arrows. I never use these ones, they’re too sharp and dangerous for circus performances, but Clint told me to keep a supply on hand for emergencies when he left.
“There’s… a mission. Of sorts.” Natasha was choosing her words carefully - even moreso than usual. But I’m not really interested in hearing it, so I don’t notice.
“Does Clint know you’re here?” I don’t wait for her to answer. “Because the last I heard, it was ‘stay here, Maya’ ‘don’t get into trouble, Maya’ ‘put on your little shows and let the adults handle-’”
“Maya-” Nat interrupted me. “Clint needs your help. He’s in trouble, and I need backup to get him out of it.”
The thing you need to know about my brother - he’s invincible. At least, I always thought so as a kid. My parents were gone before I could remember, and Clint raised me ever since. He was a superhero long before he met Nick Fury.
Which is why Natasha’s words stop me in my tracks. “What kind of trouble?”
Nat finally sits down at my desk and hands me a folder. “Did Clint ever talk to you about the Avengers Initiative?”
“No, was he supposed to?” I flick through the first few pages of information - there’s a lot of technical jargon I don’t understand, but eventually I get to the team profiles. Some faces I know - there’s Tony Stark, Nat and Clint of course, and that World War Two soldier they found under an ice cap last year. There’s a guy with curly hair and glasses I don’t recognize.
“You’ve got a lot of reading to do,” Nat says, standing up. “But you can do it in the car. We need to go now - Fury has a ship waiting for us on the other side of the border.”
She takes the file back from me, and I start opening drawers and throwing my essentials into a duffel. I kick open the trunk by my bed and grab my bow. I know if Nick Fury is involved, there will probably be an arsenal waiting for me on this ship. Still, I feel more comfortable shooting my own weapon.
I’m locking up my trailer and following Nat out of the circus grounds within five minutes. She has a car waiting on the nearest road - long deserted after the audience has gone home.
“So where is Clint, then?” I ask, climbing into the passenger seat. Natasha takes a pause before answering.
“He’s being mind-controlled by a demigod from space.”
Nat starts the car, and we drive off into the night.