don't leave no other but the baby
Officially giving myself Saturdays off for posting because writing club means I'm away from the internet for most of the day D: And yesterday was eaten up by cutting up caribou, and I won't even post the pictures I have, that's how much I love you guys <3
BUT CAN WE TALK ABOUT THIS
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BUT CAN WE TALK ABOUT THIS
( Read more... )
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"What's that attached to you?" Tony asks, looking more worried than he did during the entire Chitauri invasion.
"It's my daughter."
"What's that code for?"
"It's code for fruit of my loins," Clint says, rolling his eyes.
"Who has loin fruit?" Darcy asks, picking herself up, then her eyes widen and she makes grabby hands. "Oh my god, gimme!"
"Sorry Darce, she's pretty shy... oh okay then!" Clint manages to not drop Gracie but only just as the little girl squirms and strains towards Darcy who's practically bouncing. Clint supposes Gracie's recognized a kindred spirit, someone else who could be entertained for hours jumping up and down in place and screaming.
"Since when do you have a daughter?" Tony asks, incredulous.
"Since five years, four months and eight days ago."
"Is it... I mean, is she Natasha's?" Steve asks, rubbing at the back of his neck and looking uncomfortable. Over comms, they all hear an outraged noise and then some fairly colorful Russian expletives.
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(there's always Clint/Coulson if that floats your boat? But I'd totally read this as gen too AND OF COURSE DARCY IS ALSO AWESOME AT BABIES J'APPROVE)
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Oh, and he TOTALLY has two kids!
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"Ugh, there's something coming out of it!"
"It's called puke Tony, it happens," Clint says, rolling his eyes as he takes Daniel back and slings him over his towel-covered shoulder.
"Can't you make it stop?"
"Would you stop calling him it?"
"Sorry, just... when foreign substances start erupting from a small, squishy thing, I go with it as a default."
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--
"Barton?"
"Barton?"
"I know you're there, I can hear you breathing. If you didn't want me to hear you, you would have used a different comm channel."
Clint grimaces and then sighs. He's perched precariously on an overhang, watching two men who didn't drop too far from the evolutionary gorilla tree haul hopefully not lifeless sacks into a seemingly abandoned warehouse.
"Barton, this isn't your op. Rodriguez has this covered so if you're just doing this because you're bored-"
"They're mine," Clint grits out, adjusting his feet and bracing his back a little better so he can free his arms. He's never been worried about missing a target before because he just doesn't, but right now... it's different.
"Like I said, this isn't your op."
"Not the op, the cargo. They're mine," he repeats and there's a pause on comms, Phil probably trying to parse data from the few words he's been given.
"Sorry, say again?" he finally says. Any other time, Clint would have been crowing about surprising the usually unflappable Phil Coulson, but right now he has other stuff on his mind.
"The kids Coulson, the kids these fuckers have are mine." Clint pulls his bow free and has his targets in his sights, but he's waiting. It kind of pisses him off that as soon as Coulson's voice is in his ear, he can't bring himself to act without the guy's say so, but he trusts Coulson more than anyone he ever has and he's waiting for Coulson to talk him through how to bring these guys down with hurting his kids.
Because godamned if he knows.
"Wait for Rodriguez to get into position," Coulson says crisply, and before Clint can swear at him and tell him how much that is not going to happen, Coulson overrides with, "As soon as he's close enough, he'll be able to catch the cargo when you drop these guys."
Clint swallows roughly, against the sick burn of these thugs laying hands on the terrifyingly fragile forms of his kids, how he can see one tiny, limp little hand hanging out of the second bag and how he doesn't know if they're okay.
"Tell him to hurry the hell up, because in about twelve seconds these guys are going to be in a position where I can nail them both with one shot."
"Hawkeye, I'm set," Rodriguez pipes up, none too soon.
"You'd better have your catcher's mitt buddy," Clint growls and lets the arrow loose.
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BB FEEL SO FREE TO KEEP RUNNING WITH THIS, I HAVE TO GO TO A HALLOWEEN PARTY IN A BIT SO DON'T FEEL LIKE I'M IGNORING YOU, I LOVE EVERY SINGLE FREAKING THING ABOUT IT <333
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