Work Text:
December 24th, 2025
Iowa
“All right. What have we got left?”
Natasha examines the list. “Canned pumpkin?”
Clint inspects the basket. “Yep.”
“Milk?”
“Yep.”
“Five—wow. Five Pillsbury biscuits?”
What can he say. Cooper is a growing boy.
“All here and accounted for.”
“Then it looks like all we have left is… the turkey.”
She announces this with only mild emphasis, but Clint can’t help but grin. Natasha has a better poker face than most, but her well-concealed excitement as he follows her through the hordes of last-minute Christmas shoppers vibrates through him like a lightning strike.
He sighs in contentment. This year, not only will Clint be home for Christmas, but so will Natasha.
The meat counter is lined with a cheerful, multicolored light trim, but the queue leading up to it is belligerent and thick enough to make the hair of even the most retired of assassins stand on end, so Clint leans his butt back against an open freezer chest while Natasha braves aggressive elbows and impatient shoving to pick up their order in the hope that they can avoid any accidental stabbings.
He loses sight of her briefly, and while he would have insisted that his anxiety levels rose only very, very mildly in response to this, when Natasha does reappear from behind a very large man a few moments later, she makes it a point to sign “Right here.”
Yes. Yes she is.
Clint takes a deep breath and feels every last drop of unease slowly seep away. The lingering, relentless grief that had been adhered to his soul only a year ago now feels like the distant past. Another lifetime, even.
Everywhere he had gone. Looked. Listened. Everything had reminded him of her. Of what he had lost. Of Laura, Cooper, Lila, and Nate and what it had cost to give them back to him. Of her very empty chair and emptier stocking hanging over the fireplace.
There’s a prickle of concern, and his sapphire gaze shifts to meet her watchful jade stare. He winks at her, and she rolls her eyes back at him.
I’m okay, Nat. More okay than I have been in a very, very long time.
Clint smiles softly and lifts his rapidly chilling butt off the edge of the freezer, aimlessly letting his gaze roam over the contents. Frozen dinners at one end, then ice cream, popsicles, and on the far end… Hey, aren’t those…
“It’s me. I bring pizza and holiday cheer. Let me in.”
They are. Daily’s Strawberry Daiquiri Frozen Cocktail.
“Got any more of that slushee stuff?”
Clint heaves another sigh.
Stubborn, ridiculous girl.
He digs out his phone, but there’s still no reply to his last message. He can feel Natasha’s gaze again, but he doesn’t look up.
You sure? You’re more than welcome.
Nah it’s okay. My aunt’s in town this year and my grandma is coming in from Ohio. Jack even invited me over. Besides, I’ve monopolized more than enough of your Christmases.
His skin starts to burn from the inside out. Insistent. Clint catches her eyes and signs. “Mini-hawk.”
Understanding flows out of her and into him, and then it is her turn at the counter and her attention shifts away from him.
Don’t be ridiculous. You’re more than welcome to come. Let me know if you change your mind?
Clint frowns at the screen and the tiny little “Read” right above a timestamp from over two days ago. Kate never leaves him on read. That girl would be sure to get the last word even if speech became a finite resource.
“What’s all this?”
“This is me saving the holidays.”
“She respond?”
Clint actually jumps, prompting Natasha to step back. He feels a twinge of apology and sympathy from her.
“Sorry,” she says, looking mildly sheepish. “Loud in here, isn't it?”
She knows damn well he can hear just fine.
“Deafening.” He pockets his phone. “Ready to go?”
Natasha lifts the massive bird. “I think I can actually hear Cooper’s stomach and Yelena’s impatience from here.”
Clint chuckles and gestures toward the cash registers. “Then let’s load ourselves up like Bob Cratchit on Christmas Eve and head home already!”
Natasha scans and he bags. He says nothing when she lifts her eyebrows and holds up an assortment of fruit-flavored frozen pouches.
“You lost your family in the Blip?”
Damn it, Kate, he thinks as he accepts the pouches and plops each one into a plastic bag.
He really doesn’t know what else he can do. Last year, even her mother’s unexpected arrest had barely been enough to convince her to celebrate with him. This year…
Judge denied bail again. Can’t blame him. She freakin murdered the guy after all.
She knew she would be alone, and she said no anyway. He can’t force Kate to come if she doesn’t want to. That is, if she really doesn’t want to, which he finds hard to believe, but what’s he supposed to do—barrage her over and over until she finally gives in and…
“Best shot you ever took?”
“The one I didn’t take.”
“What does that mean?”
“Clint, come on, this is heavy.”
Clint scrambles to accept the massive bag of potatoes and tosses it into the cart.
“Never mind. Shouldn't have said it.”
“Oh come on, I’m sure it’s a good story!”
“Clint?”
“Consider it my Christmas present!”
“No! It’s not a good story, okay?!”
A hand wraps around his wrist, and the tiniest gasp escapes Clint because the touch is white-hot, just not on his skin. He closes his eyes. Savors every sensation.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. When you do what I do for a living, well, it’s just a game of balancing loss.”
Damn it if he never wanted Kate to have to learn that lesson so soon.
A finger brushes over his wrist bone, and Clint’s insides shiver in response. Natasha says nothing, just holds firm. He ducks his head and attempts to get a grip.
Last year’s memory is so real. The slushees, the pizza, the Christmas tree. Teaching Kate to turn any small object into a deadly projectile.
The hollow cramp in his chest after they had said goodnight. Flashes of the Ronin, his family, and Natasha—shit, always Natasha—echoing through his head. He hadn’t slept a wink that night.
The grip around his wrist tightens.
She’s here. She's here and she’s alive, and it’s not last year but this year, and…
“I’m not a role model. I’m sorry, Kate. I’m not a role model to anybody.”
“What? Yes, you are! You came here—you left your family at Christmas because you thought some stranger was going to get hurt!”
A quick squeeze says “I’m here,” and “I’ve got you.”
He thinks of all the many, many times this position has been reversed, when he had occasion to pull Natasha back from the brink of despair, or terror, or…
“Let me go.”
It’s okay. I’ve got you.
Clint lets out a heavy, shaky breath. Closes his eyes against the flood of something so ineffably strong and intimate, and his knees go briefly shaky under the onslaught.
It’s Natasha’s turn to pull him back. And she will never let him go.
He is not the one who is alone this Christmas.
Resolution fills him, and he straightens and extricates himself.
“Good?” she asks. Soft, yet mildly teasing.
He nods, throwing his arm over her shoulder as they haul their loot out the automatic doors and into the parking lot. “We will be, I think.”
He hadn’t wanted to talk about Natasha last year, and had only wanted to talk about her at the same time. Kate had been there to pry it out of him. To make sure he didn’t have to spend Christmas alone.
Whether he liked it or not.
“How would you feel about a round trip flight to New York tonight?” he asks as they load shopping bags into the trunk.
She raises an eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”
He shrugs. “Light case of kidnapping.”
“On Christmas Eve?”
“Why not?”
She grins that grin that only he can see, then shrugs.
“Nothing. Just hope we can avoid an intercept course with a giant sleigh and a full team of reindeer.”
Now that would make for a very Merry Christmas indeed.
