FIC: A(nimal)vengers
Title: "A(nimal)vengers"
Fandom: The Avengers
Pairing: Clint/Natasha
Characters: Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Thor, Bruce Banner, Steve Rogers, Maria Hill and guest appearances by Tony Stark, Pepper Potts and Phil Coulson
Rating: PG-13
Length: ca. 4770 words
Warnings: some language, cruelty towards animals, mentions of child abuse (physical and neglect), mentions of miscarriage
Summary: anuna_81 asked for the “Avengers as animal rescue” at the be_compromised promptathon 2013 and my head immediately went to “Animal Police”, so that’s what happened. This is my first AU, I hope you like the world I built here.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the story, though I would like to appreciate a Clint of my own, thank you!
Author's notes: Lots of love to my betas!!! To anuna_81 for pointing out what I could do to make this fic better :D And to alphaflyer for helping me fix my tenses and for making sure the thing was readable, thank you :D
And a special thanks to frea_o for the word wars, the handholding and the cheering on :D
You can also read it on AO3
A(nimal)vengers
“Come ‘ere, buddy,” Clint coos in a low, friendly voice, holding out a piece of kibble to the emaciated white pit bull. The dog cautiously approaches, his spindly legs barely holding him up, but he gently takes the offered food from Clint’s hand.
“I wonder how you do that,” Natasha says next to him, smirking slightly as she holds out a leash to fix around the dog’s neck. “A dog that scrawny, I would have expected him to take your whole hand.”
“Nah, he’s a sweetheart,” Clint answers, feeding the dog another treat and scratching behind his ears.
Tasha slips the open noose of the leash over the dog’s head, while the animal keeps licking Clint’s hand.
“Yeah, this dog is really vicious, I can absolutely see that. You’re a vicious little licker, aren’t you?” The dog pushes his nose into Clint’s hand when he scratches him some more. Clint smiles and Nat rolls her eyes good-naturedly when he slips into his ‘dog voice’, crooning, “Yes, you are. Yes, you are.”
It always breaks her heart to see animals fall by the wayside, being exposed to human cruelty or ignorance, but the sight of her partner with the animal that had been so afraid to be approached just ten minutes ago makes her feel lighter already. She transferred from regular patrol to the Animal Police seven years ago for two reasons, and they are both right in front of her. One her best friend, and now husband, who had made the move to Animal Police at that time, making her aware that it existed. He had been (and still is) so enthusiastic about helping the ones that truly have no voice, it had struck a chord within her. Growing up with emotionally distant relatives after her own parents’ untimely death in a house fire, the family’s cats were what kept her from giving in to the eating disorder she had slowly developed when she had turned fourteen. The cats had smothered her with love, providing her with an outlet and she wanted to pay that love forward. Watching Clint and the dog makes her feel warm and fuzzy, knowing they have changed a life for the better. Another debt she can strike from her ledger.
“You got ‘im?” the young patrolman, who’d requested their presence at the supposed dealer’s house to take care of the ‘vicious dog’, asks from behind the fence.
“Yes, we do,” Tasha answers, glad they’ll get the dog away from his home. “You were right to call us, although you should have called us for the dog’s sake. He’s about as vicious as a lamb.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” the officer gripes, waving her off.
“Ass,” she mutters, as Clint hoists the dog into his arms while Tasha holds the gate for him. The dog is really hardly more than a puppy and now that he can’t reach Clint’s hand anymore, he resorts to licking his face, his thin tail wagging slowly.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re a good boy,” Clint coos while Tasha sends imaginary daggers at the police officer. The ignorance of her former colleagues is a thorn in her side and the reason why she’s taking online courses in Adult Education. One day she is going to teach at the academy, make sure that every cop at least gets some feel for the situations many animals face in the city.
She sighs as she opens the back door of their cruiser so Clint can deposit the dog. “Let’s get this little ray of sunshine to the doc.”
His brows shoot up and he smiles brightly at her, “Oh, that’s a good name for him.”
“What? Sunshine?” Tasha asks, an eyebrow arching elegantly in question.
Clint laughs, “Hell no, he’s no douche. He’s a Ray, ain’t that right, m’ boy?” The dog yips as Clint sets him down and secures the leash in the window. “See, he agrees with me.”
“You’re such a dork, Barton.”
“Yeah, yeah, but you love me anyway,” he replies with a wink.
“Sometimes I really wonder why,” Tasha sighs and gets behind the wheel.
<><><><><><>
The vet station is located in the same building that houses the “A(nimal)vengers” rescue shelter and its dispatch, with kennels and runs located in the back. A trust fund set up by self-obsessed District Attorney Tony Stark (who Clint knows to be a good guy, from everything he’s done for the center) is taking care of most of the expenses and Clint really likes the vet staff.
“Hey doc, I have a special delivery for you,” Clint calls out as they enter the treatment area, the newly christened Ray in his arms, shedding white fur all over his dark uniform.
He can feel the dog’s ribs underneath his hands and Doc Banner’s face turns a little green as he sees the bundle of flesh and bones Clint is carrying.
“What’s that?” he asks calmly, pointing at Ray.
“This is Ray, he’s a dog and a sweetheart,” Tasha answers beside him and Clint smirks in anticipation.
“That, my friends, is no dog,” the doc replies as Clint deposits a shaking Ray onto the exam table. “A dog should be more than skin and bones. Just look at him! I hope the person responsible for this has been found.”
Clint smirks as Tasha leans into him and whispers, “You’d think he’d hunt him down personally and smash the fucker to a pulp. Man, I’d pay to see that.” Yeah, he’d pay good money to watch that go down too.
“Yeah, police called us to get the dog so they could bust the fucker on drug charges, I think. We’re gonna add a count of animal cruelty to that, just need proper documentation, you know the drill,” Clint answers the doc’s question.
“Good, good. Odinson, bring the camera, we’ll need to take pictures,” Doc Banner calls out to his vet tech and a moment later the tall blonde joins them.
He grimly looks at Ray, then proclaims in his booming voice, “Doctor, maybe we should take the castration set to wherever this poor creature was held and show whoever done him such wrong how it is used? On him?”
Clint scoffs, that is certainly a good idea right there, he’s entertained that idea too.
He likes the Icelandic vet tech everyone just calls Thor, not just because his first name, Thorsteinn, is too cumbersome for American tongues, but also because he looks like he just stepped out of Norse legend. They often go to watch football games together, he and Clint (Thor likes the Vikings, while Clint is a 49ers fan), have a few beers and a good time. Clint, who’s not a big drinker, usually pays dearly for those evenings and every beer they have with a hangover the size of Canada, while Thor seemingly knows no limits and becomes the happiest drunk Clint knows. (Tasha would disagree, saying Clint is the happiest, turning into a human octopus, clinging to her when he comes home, giggling while he tells her about the evening.)
Ray shivers at the sound that rumbles out of Thor’s chest like thunder, but as soon as the big guy’s gigantic hands gently stroke the frightened pup’s chin, he calms right down and starts wagging his tail again.
Doc Banner nods sagely, “Excellent idea, Thor, we should look into that sometime. But now we should see that we put this lovely fella back to rights, okay?”
“Certainly, Doctor Banner,” Thor answers, taking Clint’s spot at Ray’s side, petting the dog while the vet examines him.
They start talking business and Clint looks on, when suddenly a small hand settles in his, squeezing it. His eyes find Tasha’s.
“We should go, we have someone to pick up,” she says with a smile that makes her eyes sparkle.
“Right. I just wanted to see if Ray...” he trails off, the way Tasha tilts her head to the side the only sign he needs to know she knew he’d say that.
“The pup will be alright, Clint. Just needs some food and someone to actually care for him. I’m sure Maria and Steve will do just that,” Doc Banner addresses him, sounding a little annoyed.
Clint smiles sheepishly, remembering all the previous instances that he had bugged the doc about a case he and Tasha had brought in. Letting them go and have someone else take over their care is always the hardest part. But now Tasha tugs him along and with a last salute to Thor and a promise to go for a beer soon, they head to the shelter, their shift over.
<><><><><><>
“Clint, my friend, how are you?” Steve greets him with a big smile and a firm clap on the shoulder.
He’s towering over Clint, who has to grin when he remembers some guys at the orphanage they both grew up in spitefully calling Steve “Captain America” once he finally hit his growth spurt in Junior year. He can still expertly recall their stunned faces when Steve turned up dressed as Cap for the school Halloween party that year - and for every Halloween party anywhere since, turning it into a running gag and earning him his nickname.
“Hey Cap, you alright?” he replies, mirroring Steve’s smile and looking up at the younger man running the shelter.
Clint loves hanging out at the shelter with his old friend, their time in the ‘group home’ as it is nowadays called, forging a firm friendship. He’s a couple years older than Steve, but they’d been taken to the home at the same time, both too small for their age, their parents recently dead and Clint also missing his big brother fiercely. Barney had looked out for him his whole life, all of ten years, been his hero and his savior more than once when he stood between Clint and their violent father. One of those times had cost Barney his hearing when their dad hit him so hard it ruptured his eardrums. Their dad never bothered to learn sign language, but Clint had taken to the patterns like they were second nature to him. He was shocked when they were separated after their parents’ death. Barney was sent to a school for the deaf, while social services took Clint to a regular group home. He had known intellectually that it was the best for Barney, but he couldn’t help feeling abandoned; the separation from his big brother worse than losing his father or mother. Steve being a loyal and trustworthy friend helped ease the loss of everything he had held dear and Clint returned the favor by looking out for the smaller kid, teaching him how to hold his own in a fight.
“Yeah, I’m great. We managed to find a good home for that old collie you brought in a couple of months ago and we got a large donation of kibble. So I’m pretty happy. And well, I have something else to tell you, but that should wait until Maria is here,” he finishes, smiling diffidently.
“Tell them what, Steve?” Maria asks as she rounds the corner, a large Doberman on a leash. The dog immediately starts to wag its tail when it sees Steve and Clint’s face lights up.
“Sandy,” Clint says softly and the dog focuses on him, the guy who took her from an illegal breeder who kept his dogs in a cellar, birthing one litter after the other. She’s bounding over the moment she makes him and Maria lets go of the leash, the large dog falling on her back, allowing Clint to scratch her belly. “How are the pups?”
“All doing well and all have homes once they’re old enough to be rehoused,” Maria answers with a slight smile, heading over to hug Tasha in greeting.
“So, Steve hinted at some big news,” Tasha says as she embraces her best friend.
Clint sees a smile flit between Maria and Steve, then Steve nods and Maria brightly says, “We’re pregnant.”
A pang of ‘something’ rushes through him and it’s uncomfortable. His best friend and his wife are having a baby after trying for a long time. He should be happy for them and, burying his hands in Sandy’s soft ruff, he tries to be, tries to swallow the niggling jealousy. He sees the same emotion flit over Tasha’s face for a fraction of a second, then she has composed herself and runs to embrace Maria. His heart aches for her, for him and the children they’ll never have. They gave up after the third miscarriage, neither one able to ride that rollercoaster of emotions again. He takes a cue from his wife, swallows down his emotions and puts on his best smile as he pats Sandy one last time. The dog jumps to her feet and shakes herself as Clint gets up and embraces Steve, congratulating him while Tasha hugs Maria. They switch and Clint finds his breath almost crushed out of him when Maria wraps her arms around his waist.
She whispers, “I’m sorry, I know how this must feel. But we couldn’t keep it from you two any longer. I hope you’re okay, Steve was worried.”
He swallows the lump that suddenly makes breathing a chore, shakes his head and enthuses, “I’m truly happy for you two, and I know Tasha is too. And we’re good, we have our furry kids, they’re enough.”
(They’re not, not really, but it’s what the universe gave them and they’ll live with it.)
Maria kisses his cheek again and releases him; Clint clears his throat and takes Tasha’s hand, squeezing it gently. She’s trembling minutely and he just wants to take her home, to their sanctuary.
“Speaking of baby, we’re here to take our newest one home today,” he says once he’s sure his voice is steady.
Steve smiles and clamps one of his plate-sized hands around Clint’s shoulder, saying, “Yes, she’s already waiting in the office with Darcy. I really appreciate you guys taking Maggie in until she’s ready to find a permanent home.”
Following his friend into the office, it is Clint’s turn to smile as Tasha says, “Don’t be ridiculous. You know we love to foster, Steve. We were the ones who got her out of that situation and Maggie needs a place where she can heal and learn to trust people again, so where else do you want to send her?”
“There’s nowhere I’d rather have her be, Tasha, you know that.”
The office is friendly, decorated in everything from animal posters and postcards to bunting and sparkly picture frames by Darcy, the rescue’s cheerful dispatcher and self-proclaimed ‘office goddess’. She even taped some feathers to her headset and those are currently the point of fixation for a slight grey cat that is perched on Darcy’s shoulder, pawing playfully at them. The young woman giggles and holds her cell phone out to Tasha when they enter.
“Quick, take a picture of that, will you? She’s so effing adorable; I’ll put it on the website once she’s ready to be rehomed.”
Tasha smiles and takes the picture, picking up the cat from where she’s perched as she returns the phone, cradling the animal against her chest. The cat paws at her red locks and rubs her head against Tasha’s cheek. Clint’s heart feels fit to burst at the soft smile on his wife’s face, her posture relaxing as she pets the cat. The owner’s neighbor had called them when she saw her neighbor bash the cat against a wall. The woman had been inconsolable, blaming herself for not alerting anyone earlier as she knew her neighbor had a temper when he was drunk. The situation they had found at the scene reminded Clint of his childhood and he had gladly arrested the fucker (and if the guy might have accidentally hit his head while getting into the squad car, Clint would never tell). Tasha had taken care of the cat, the assault having left one of her front legs broken, and her eye so badly injured that it could not be saved. Doc Banner had done wonders on the leg and while she is still skittish around men and limping badly, she had immediately taken to Tasha and apparently Darcy as well. So it would fall to him to get her to relax around men as well to heighten her chances to find a forever home.
“Let’s take you home, sweetie,” Tasha says softly to the cat when Steve holds the carrier open for her. “You’re going to have it so good, others to play with, enough food, a warm place to sleep. How does that sound?”
Clint smirks, thinking better than anything I had growing up as he takes the carrier with the cat in one hand, his woman’s hand in the other and heads for his old beat-up pick-up truck.
<><><><><><>
The moment they turn into their driveway, the barking begins and Tasha smiles. Their family is excited to welcome them home, just like they always are.
“I’ll let the dogs out in the yard, you bring the new girl in?” Clint asks, smiling as he shuts off the engine and waits for her nod. The top two buttons of his uniform shirt are undone, his whole appearance exuding quiet confidence and contentment.
He leans over and threads his hand through her hair, pulls her to him for a gentle kiss, his strong, calloused fingers playing over her neck, sending goosebumps down her arms. Tasha cups his cheek, her thumb brushing his skin and he shivers, breaking their kiss with a big grin.
He quickly moves to the front door, the barking increasing in intensity when he turns the key. Tasha hears a quick, “Shhh” and the racket ends as a sea of fur engulfs Clint. She smiles as he’s surrounded by his pack of mutts, all five of them vying for his attention. They’re all of questionable heritage, all needing extra attention the shelter just can’t provide, although Steve and Maria and the rest of the staff really try their best.
Murphy, a big black Labrador mix who bounces around on three legs is the only dog who’s sure to stay. He was their first rescue seven years ago and the one who brought the then only best friends and colleagues together. Clint takes a ball and makes his way to the backyard to play with the mutts and Tasha picks up the carrier, cooing lowly to the cat inside and takes her from the car to the house.
She takes her to the guest bedroom, where Maggie will stay for a couple of days until she gets used to the strange smells and sounds. Tasha has already set up a box for her, lining it with a nice plump pillow; food and a water bowl are on a mat in the corner. Maggie curiously sniffs the air when Tasha sets the carrier down, slinking out and hiding under the bed. For the next few days, she and Clint will come in frequently and rub Maggie with towels that they’ll then leave around the house for the other cats to smell. She has done this with all their other fosters before and when they open the door after a few days, allowing the cats to mingle, the older residents usually are first to greet the new one. It’s not always smooth sailing from there and it usually takes a few days until the new guys find their place in the hierarchy. But they haven’t had a complete failure yet, and with Maggie’s sweet temper Tasha can’t imagine she’d be the first.
Tasha squares the carrier away in the mud room off the kitchen, watching Clint and the dogs play fetch in the yard through the kitchen window as she takes a drink at the sink. Seeing the calm and joy the mutts bring him always breaks her heart a little and brings back memories of a much more reserved Clint when they first met, when he was still a beat cop and she fresh out of the academy.
Lieutenant Coulson had partnered them up; a wistful smile playing over his lips as Barton (for he was still Barton to her then) rolled his eyes, saying he worked better alone. Coulson had just stared him down until his shoulders fell and he stormed out. Despite the rocky start, Clint turned out to be a perfect gentleman once they started working together. He held doors for her, something that made her roll her eyes (she was a police officer just like him, for crying out loud), but only until they went a few rounds on the sparring mats together and he saw her hold her own, her agility evening out his bigger strength. He relaxed around her and she knew he trusted her when he told her about growing up with a violent alcoholic father after a call to a domestic disturbance.
She shakes off the memories and, after changing into yoga pants and a tank top, returns to the living room to find Charlie, their big ginger tomcat, who’s also blind in one eye and missing both an ear and his tail, on the sofa’s back. She grins at Charlie, who’d only been supposed to be a foster too, but that had been years ago and somehow he always just stayed. She scratches behind his one ear and he leans into her hand as she passes by the couch and settles in the armchair and picks up her book, submerging herself in the story, relishing the retreat from reality it offers.
Before too long Zola joins her, jumping into her lap, his missing paw not really a hindrance at all. He settles down and starts to purr, demanding she pet the old fellow, something she happily does. He’s her favorite among the fosters, quiet, stealthy, black as night, except those few spots around his muzzle where the hair is turning white from age.
The backdoor opens and she can hear Clint’s quiet steps in the kitchen, the faucet turning on and off (he’s always meticulous about hygiene where the animals are concerned) and then the fridge door opening. He rummages around for a little while, she can hear rustling and his quiet muttering (he can never be quiet for long), followed by a squawk as he closes the door. A smile ghosts over her lips; he’s brought the birds in then. And sure enough, Clint’s slightly sweaty face appears in the doorway, framed by a beautiful red parrot on each side. They cock their heads in a mocking imitation of his own when he asks, “Pasta and salad okay for dinner?”
She grins and nods, “Sure, birdman, you’re the chef.”
“Did you talk to Stark again? Seriously?” he smiles at the familiar nickname, cocking an eyebrow in that way that makes her heart burst.
“What if I have?” she replies coyly, a coy smile playing across her features. “I know he’s a showoff in court, but he does what’s best for the animals. And don’t forget that it’s his foundation that’s almost exclusively financing the shelter.”
“I still believe Pepper is responsible for the cases even making it to court,” Clint spits back. “But he’s not a bad guy, that’s for sure,” he concedes and blows her a kiss as he ducks back into the kitchen.
She abandons her book and Zola to get her mind out of the gutter and off the things she’d love to do to him right now and instead empties the litter boxes. Nolan, the aged white Persian with the bad hip watches her as she works and the look he graces her with has her giggling again. There’s clear revulsion evident on his squashed face, like handling his poo is the grossest thing anyone has ever done.
“Diva,” she laughs and as if he had understood it for the insult it is meant as, Nolan turns, walking away as gracefully as he can.
Still grinning, Tasha finishes her chore in no time flat while an appetizing smell wafts through the house from the kitchen. Clint is singing along to the radio, his deep smoky voice filling the house, going straight to Tasha’s stomach. The birds chime in, squawking loudly, and she rounds the corner to the kitchen to find Clint cutting vegetables for the salad, feeding Buddy and Holly, their truly ancient parrots, some of the pieces. He had begged her to take them in when their owner died of old age and none of his relatives or friends had been willing or able to look after the old couple, and as always she couldn’t deny him the wish.
He seems young and carefree where he’s swaying to the music’s beat and all she can think of is that the few feet between them are too many. She closes the distance between them and wraps her arms around his middle, molding herself to his body, inhaling his scent - sweat, animals and just Clint.
“Smells so good,” she murmurs, thinking how that man is more of a home to her than her relatives’ had ever been able to provide her with as a child.
“Dinner will be ready in a minute,” his voice rumbles in his chest, reverberating through her and she squeezes him tighter before placing a kiss between his shoulderblades and reluctantly releasing him.
“Wasn’t talking about dinner, hotstuff,” she smirks and sets the table, feeling his eyes on her the whole time.
<><><><><><>
The dogs join them in the living room after dinner; Tasha curls up in her armchair with her book again, while Clint sprawls across the couch, watching a baseball game on TV. His left hand is hanging down and scratching Harley’s scruff, the old, half-blind mutt snoring contentedly. Zola is curled on his chest, purring as Clint strokes his back, the sounds almost drowning out the announcer on TV, resonating through his chest and finally allowing his restless mind to relax.
He feels the strain of the day fall from him, the anger at everything he has seen, everything that it has brought back to the surface, memories of fists and belts against his own flesh melting back into the recesses of his mind. All that’s important now is his family.
“I’m really happy for Steve and Maria, they’re gonna be great parents,” he finally says, his heart aching a little, but the sentiment is heartfelt. He really is happy for the guy he loves like a little brother.
“Me too, they have wanted it for a long time,” Tasha says with a sigh, finding Clint’s gaze.
“So have we,” he says, his voice subdued, emotions all of a sudden close to the surface again. He buries his hand in Harley’s thick scruff and apparently pets Zola a little too hard, for the black cat makes a disgruntled noise and jumps off of him.
“Yes,” Tasha says and crosses the short distance to him, lying down on top of him, her warm hands gently cupping his face. “But you can’t always get what you want. We both know that. And I am just happy that I have you and our fur babies. It’s all I need.”
She gently smiles at him and presses her lips to his. He wraps his arms around her waist, holding her close as they kiss, and he can taste the truth of her words on her lips. He feels his eyes stinging, but her fingers on his cheeks brush away the traces of moisture.
“I love you, you and your big heart, Clint,” she says warmly, and he threads his fingers through her hair. Her green eyes find his blue ones and she’s so impossibly close, her gaze seeming to read his every thought and emotion, jumbled as they are at the moment. “How about we talk fostering someone less furry, more human shaped in the future?”
The grin that lights his face at her words threatens to split his skin, and he kisses her deeply as he flips them over, stealing the air from her lungs. She sighs when he settles on top of her and buries his head in the crook of her neck, his lips on her silky skin. One of the birds screeches in the kitchen, a dog woofs and one of the cats jumps onto his legs, pawing at his butt and he chuckles at the sensation. His wife’s soft lips press a kiss to his temple as she giggles into his ear, melodious and light.
If home is where the heart is, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.
Fandom: The Avengers
Pairing: Clint/Natasha
Characters: Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Thor, Bruce Banner, Steve Rogers, Maria Hill and guest appearances by Tony Stark, Pepper Potts and Phil Coulson
Rating: PG-13
Length: ca. 4770 words
Warnings: some language, cruelty towards animals, mentions of child abuse (physical and neglect), mentions of miscarriage
Summary: anuna_81 asked for the “Avengers as animal rescue” at the be_compromised promptathon 2013 and my head immediately went to “Animal Police”, so that’s what happened. This is my first AU, I hope you like the world I built here.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the story, though I would like to appreciate a Clint of my own, thank you!
Author's notes: Lots of love to my betas!!! To anuna_81 for pointing out what I could do to make this fic better :D And to alphaflyer for helping me fix my tenses and for making sure the thing was readable, thank you :D
And a special thanks to frea_o for the word wars, the handholding and the cheering on :D
You can also read it on AO3
A(nimal)vengers
“Come ‘ere, buddy,” Clint coos in a low, friendly voice, holding out a piece of kibble to the emaciated white pit bull. The dog cautiously approaches, his spindly legs barely holding him up, but he gently takes the offered food from Clint’s hand.
“I wonder how you do that,” Natasha says next to him, smirking slightly as she holds out a leash to fix around the dog’s neck. “A dog that scrawny, I would have expected him to take your whole hand.”
“Nah, he’s a sweetheart,” Clint answers, feeding the dog another treat and scratching behind his ears.
Tasha slips the open noose of the leash over the dog’s head, while the animal keeps licking Clint’s hand.
“Yeah, this dog is really vicious, I can absolutely see that. You’re a vicious little licker, aren’t you?” The dog pushes his nose into Clint’s hand when he scratches him some more. Clint smiles and Nat rolls her eyes good-naturedly when he slips into his ‘dog voice’, crooning, “Yes, you are. Yes, you are.”
It always breaks her heart to see animals fall by the wayside, being exposed to human cruelty or ignorance, but the sight of her partner with the animal that had been so afraid to be approached just ten minutes ago makes her feel lighter already. She transferred from regular patrol to the Animal Police seven years ago for two reasons, and they are both right in front of her. One her best friend, and now husband, who had made the move to Animal Police at that time, making her aware that it existed. He had been (and still is) so enthusiastic about helping the ones that truly have no voice, it had struck a chord within her. Growing up with emotionally distant relatives after her own parents’ untimely death in a house fire, the family’s cats were what kept her from giving in to the eating disorder she had slowly developed when she had turned fourteen. The cats had smothered her with love, providing her with an outlet and she wanted to pay that love forward. Watching Clint and the dog makes her feel warm and fuzzy, knowing they have changed a life for the better. Another debt she can strike from her ledger.
“You got ‘im?” the young patrolman, who’d requested their presence at the supposed dealer’s house to take care of the ‘vicious dog’, asks from behind the fence.
“Yes, we do,” Tasha answers, glad they’ll get the dog away from his home. “You were right to call us, although you should have called us for the dog’s sake. He’s about as vicious as a lamb.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” the officer gripes, waving her off.
“Ass,” she mutters, as Clint hoists the dog into his arms while Tasha holds the gate for him. The dog is really hardly more than a puppy and now that he can’t reach Clint’s hand anymore, he resorts to licking his face, his thin tail wagging slowly.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re a good boy,” Clint coos while Tasha sends imaginary daggers at the police officer. The ignorance of her former colleagues is a thorn in her side and the reason why she’s taking online courses in Adult Education. One day she is going to teach at the academy, make sure that every cop at least gets some feel for the situations many animals face in the city.
She sighs as she opens the back door of their cruiser so Clint can deposit the dog. “Let’s get this little ray of sunshine to the doc.”
His brows shoot up and he smiles brightly at her, “Oh, that’s a good name for him.”
“What? Sunshine?” Tasha asks, an eyebrow arching elegantly in question.
Clint laughs, “Hell no, he’s no douche. He’s a Ray, ain’t that right, m’ boy?” The dog yips as Clint sets him down and secures the leash in the window. “See, he agrees with me.”
“You’re such a dork, Barton.”
“Yeah, yeah, but you love me anyway,” he replies with a wink.
“Sometimes I really wonder why,” Tasha sighs and gets behind the wheel.
<><><><><><>
The vet station is located in the same building that houses the “A(nimal)vengers” rescue shelter and its dispatch, with kennels and runs located in the back. A trust fund set up by self-obsessed District Attorney Tony Stark (who Clint knows to be a good guy, from everything he’s done for the center) is taking care of most of the expenses and Clint really likes the vet staff.
“Hey doc, I have a special delivery for you,” Clint calls out as they enter the treatment area, the newly christened Ray in his arms, shedding white fur all over his dark uniform.
He can feel the dog’s ribs underneath his hands and Doc Banner’s face turns a little green as he sees the bundle of flesh and bones Clint is carrying.
“What’s that?” he asks calmly, pointing at Ray.
“This is Ray, he’s a dog and a sweetheart,” Tasha answers beside him and Clint smirks in anticipation.
“That, my friends, is no dog,” the doc replies as Clint deposits a shaking Ray onto the exam table. “A dog should be more than skin and bones. Just look at him! I hope the person responsible for this has been found.”
Clint smirks as Tasha leans into him and whispers, “You’d think he’d hunt him down personally and smash the fucker to a pulp. Man, I’d pay to see that.” Yeah, he’d pay good money to watch that go down too.
“Yeah, police called us to get the dog so they could bust the fucker on drug charges, I think. We’re gonna add a count of animal cruelty to that, just need proper documentation, you know the drill,” Clint answers the doc’s question.
“Good, good. Odinson, bring the camera, we’ll need to take pictures,” Doc Banner calls out to his vet tech and a moment later the tall blonde joins them.
He grimly looks at Ray, then proclaims in his booming voice, “Doctor, maybe we should take the castration set to wherever this poor creature was held and show whoever done him such wrong how it is used? On him?”
Clint scoffs, that is certainly a good idea right there, he’s entertained that idea too.
He likes the Icelandic vet tech everyone just calls Thor, not just because his first name, Thorsteinn, is too cumbersome for American tongues, but also because he looks like he just stepped out of Norse legend. They often go to watch football games together, he and Clint (Thor likes the Vikings, while Clint is a 49ers fan), have a few beers and a good time. Clint, who’s not a big drinker, usually pays dearly for those evenings and every beer they have with a hangover the size of Canada, while Thor seemingly knows no limits and becomes the happiest drunk Clint knows. (Tasha would disagree, saying Clint is the happiest, turning into a human octopus, clinging to her when he comes home, giggling while he tells her about the evening.)
Ray shivers at the sound that rumbles out of Thor’s chest like thunder, but as soon as the big guy’s gigantic hands gently stroke the frightened pup’s chin, he calms right down and starts wagging his tail again.
Doc Banner nods sagely, “Excellent idea, Thor, we should look into that sometime. But now we should see that we put this lovely fella back to rights, okay?”
“Certainly, Doctor Banner,” Thor answers, taking Clint’s spot at Ray’s side, petting the dog while the vet examines him.
They start talking business and Clint looks on, when suddenly a small hand settles in his, squeezing it. His eyes find Tasha’s.
“We should go, we have someone to pick up,” she says with a smile that makes her eyes sparkle.
“Right. I just wanted to see if Ray...” he trails off, the way Tasha tilts her head to the side the only sign he needs to know she knew he’d say that.
“The pup will be alright, Clint. Just needs some food and someone to actually care for him. I’m sure Maria and Steve will do just that,” Doc Banner addresses him, sounding a little annoyed.
Clint smiles sheepishly, remembering all the previous instances that he had bugged the doc about a case he and Tasha had brought in. Letting them go and have someone else take over their care is always the hardest part. But now Tasha tugs him along and with a last salute to Thor and a promise to go for a beer soon, they head to the shelter, their shift over.
<><><><><><>
“Clint, my friend, how are you?” Steve greets him with a big smile and a firm clap on the shoulder.
He’s towering over Clint, who has to grin when he remembers some guys at the orphanage they both grew up in spitefully calling Steve “Captain America” once he finally hit his growth spurt in Junior year. He can still expertly recall their stunned faces when Steve turned up dressed as Cap for the school Halloween party that year - and for every Halloween party anywhere since, turning it into a running gag and earning him his nickname.
“Hey Cap, you alright?” he replies, mirroring Steve’s smile and looking up at the younger man running the shelter.
Clint loves hanging out at the shelter with his old friend, their time in the ‘group home’ as it is nowadays called, forging a firm friendship. He’s a couple years older than Steve, but they’d been taken to the home at the same time, both too small for their age, their parents recently dead and Clint also missing his big brother fiercely. Barney had looked out for him his whole life, all of ten years, been his hero and his savior more than once when he stood between Clint and their violent father. One of those times had cost Barney his hearing when their dad hit him so hard it ruptured his eardrums. Their dad never bothered to learn sign language, but Clint had taken to the patterns like they were second nature to him. He was shocked when they were separated after their parents’ death. Barney was sent to a school for the deaf, while social services took Clint to a regular group home. He had known intellectually that it was the best for Barney, but he couldn’t help feeling abandoned; the separation from his big brother worse than losing his father or mother. Steve being a loyal and trustworthy friend helped ease the loss of everything he had held dear and Clint returned the favor by looking out for the smaller kid, teaching him how to hold his own in a fight.
“Yeah, I’m great. We managed to find a good home for that old collie you brought in a couple of months ago and we got a large donation of kibble. So I’m pretty happy. And well, I have something else to tell you, but that should wait until Maria is here,” he finishes, smiling diffidently.
“Tell them what, Steve?” Maria asks as she rounds the corner, a large Doberman on a leash. The dog immediately starts to wag its tail when it sees Steve and Clint’s face lights up.
“Sandy,” Clint says softly and the dog focuses on him, the guy who took her from an illegal breeder who kept his dogs in a cellar, birthing one litter after the other. She’s bounding over the moment she makes him and Maria lets go of the leash, the large dog falling on her back, allowing Clint to scratch her belly. “How are the pups?”
“All doing well and all have homes once they’re old enough to be rehoused,” Maria answers with a slight smile, heading over to hug Tasha in greeting.
“So, Steve hinted at some big news,” Tasha says as she embraces her best friend.
Clint sees a smile flit between Maria and Steve, then Steve nods and Maria brightly says, “We’re pregnant.”
A pang of ‘something’ rushes through him and it’s uncomfortable. His best friend and his wife are having a baby after trying for a long time. He should be happy for them and, burying his hands in Sandy’s soft ruff, he tries to be, tries to swallow the niggling jealousy. He sees the same emotion flit over Tasha’s face for a fraction of a second, then she has composed herself and runs to embrace Maria. His heart aches for her, for him and the children they’ll never have. They gave up after the third miscarriage, neither one able to ride that rollercoaster of emotions again. He takes a cue from his wife, swallows down his emotions and puts on his best smile as he pats Sandy one last time. The dog jumps to her feet and shakes herself as Clint gets up and embraces Steve, congratulating him while Tasha hugs Maria. They switch and Clint finds his breath almost crushed out of him when Maria wraps her arms around his waist.
She whispers, “I’m sorry, I know how this must feel. But we couldn’t keep it from you two any longer. I hope you’re okay, Steve was worried.”
He swallows the lump that suddenly makes breathing a chore, shakes his head and enthuses, “I’m truly happy for you two, and I know Tasha is too. And we’re good, we have our furry kids, they’re enough.”
(They’re not, not really, but it’s what the universe gave them and they’ll live with it.)
Maria kisses his cheek again and releases him; Clint clears his throat and takes Tasha’s hand, squeezing it gently. She’s trembling minutely and he just wants to take her home, to their sanctuary.
“Speaking of baby, we’re here to take our newest one home today,” he says once he’s sure his voice is steady.
Steve smiles and clamps one of his plate-sized hands around Clint’s shoulder, saying, “Yes, she’s already waiting in the office with Darcy. I really appreciate you guys taking Maggie in until she’s ready to find a permanent home.”
Following his friend into the office, it is Clint’s turn to smile as Tasha says, “Don’t be ridiculous. You know we love to foster, Steve. We were the ones who got her out of that situation and Maggie needs a place where she can heal and learn to trust people again, so where else do you want to send her?”
“There’s nowhere I’d rather have her be, Tasha, you know that.”
The office is friendly, decorated in everything from animal posters and postcards to bunting and sparkly picture frames by Darcy, the rescue’s cheerful dispatcher and self-proclaimed ‘office goddess’. She even taped some feathers to her headset and those are currently the point of fixation for a slight grey cat that is perched on Darcy’s shoulder, pawing playfully at them. The young woman giggles and holds her cell phone out to Tasha when they enter.
“Quick, take a picture of that, will you? She’s so effing adorable; I’ll put it on the website once she’s ready to be rehomed.”
Tasha smiles and takes the picture, picking up the cat from where she’s perched as she returns the phone, cradling the animal against her chest. The cat paws at her red locks and rubs her head against Tasha’s cheek. Clint’s heart feels fit to burst at the soft smile on his wife’s face, her posture relaxing as she pets the cat. The owner’s neighbor had called them when she saw her neighbor bash the cat against a wall. The woman had been inconsolable, blaming herself for not alerting anyone earlier as she knew her neighbor had a temper when he was drunk. The situation they had found at the scene reminded Clint of his childhood and he had gladly arrested the fucker (and if the guy might have accidentally hit his head while getting into the squad car, Clint would never tell). Tasha had taken care of the cat, the assault having left one of her front legs broken, and her eye so badly injured that it could not be saved. Doc Banner had done wonders on the leg and while she is still skittish around men and limping badly, she had immediately taken to Tasha and apparently Darcy as well. So it would fall to him to get her to relax around men as well to heighten her chances to find a forever home.
“Let’s take you home, sweetie,” Tasha says softly to the cat when Steve holds the carrier open for her. “You’re going to have it so good, others to play with, enough food, a warm place to sleep. How does that sound?”
Clint smirks, thinking better than anything I had growing up as he takes the carrier with the cat in one hand, his woman’s hand in the other and heads for his old beat-up pick-up truck.
<><><><><><>
The moment they turn into their driveway, the barking begins and Tasha smiles. Their family is excited to welcome them home, just like they always are.
“I’ll let the dogs out in the yard, you bring the new girl in?” Clint asks, smiling as he shuts off the engine and waits for her nod. The top two buttons of his uniform shirt are undone, his whole appearance exuding quiet confidence and contentment.
He leans over and threads his hand through her hair, pulls her to him for a gentle kiss, his strong, calloused fingers playing over her neck, sending goosebumps down her arms. Tasha cups his cheek, her thumb brushing his skin and he shivers, breaking their kiss with a big grin.
He quickly moves to the front door, the barking increasing in intensity when he turns the key. Tasha hears a quick, “Shhh” and the racket ends as a sea of fur engulfs Clint. She smiles as he’s surrounded by his pack of mutts, all five of them vying for his attention. They’re all of questionable heritage, all needing extra attention the shelter just can’t provide, although Steve and Maria and the rest of the staff really try their best.
Murphy, a big black Labrador mix who bounces around on three legs is the only dog who’s sure to stay. He was their first rescue seven years ago and the one who brought the then only best friends and colleagues together. Clint takes a ball and makes his way to the backyard to play with the mutts and Tasha picks up the carrier, cooing lowly to the cat inside and takes her from the car to the house.
She takes her to the guest bedroom, where Maggie will stay for a couple of days until she gets used to the strange smells and sounds. Tasha has already set up a box for her, lining it with a nice plump pillow; food and a water bowl are on a mat in the corner. Maggie curiously sniffs the air when Tasha sets the carrier down, slinking out and hiding under the bed. For the next few days, she and Clint will come in frequently and rub Maggie with towels that they’ll then leave around the house for the other cats to smell. She has done this with all their other fosters before and when they open the door after a few days, allowing the cats to mingle, the older residents usually are first to greet the new one. It’s not always smooth sailing from there and it usually takes a few days until the new guys find their place in the hierarchy. But they haven’t had a complete failure yet, and with Maggie’s sweet temper Tasha can’t imagine she’d be the first.
Tasha squares the carrier away in the mud room off the kitchen, watching Clint and the dogs play fetch in the yard through the kitchen window as she takes a drink at the sink. Seeing the calm and joy the mutts bring him always breaks her heart a little and brings back memories of a much more reserved Clint when they first met, when he was still a beat cop and she fresh out of the academy.
Lieutenant Coulson had partnered them up; a wistful smile playing over his lips as Barton (for he was still Barton to her then) rolled his eyes, saying he worked better alone. Coulson had just stared him down until his shoulders fell and he stormed out. Despite the rocky start, Clint turned out to be a perfect gentleman once they started working together. He held doors for her, something that made her roll her eyes (she was a police officer just like him, for crying out loud), but only until they went a few rounds on the sparring mats together and he saw her hold her own, her agility evening out his bigger strength. He relaxed around her and she knew he trusted her when he told her about growing up with a violent alcoholic father after a call to a domestic disturbance.
She shakes off the memories and, after changing into yoga pants and a tank top, returns to the living room to find Charlie, their big ginger tomcat, who’s also blind in one eye and missing both an ear and his tail, on the sofa’s back. She grins at Charlie, who’d only been supposed to be a foster too, but that had been years ago and somehow he always just stayed. She scratches behind his one ear and he leans into her hand as she passes by the couch and settles in the armchair and picks up her book, submerging herself in the story, relishing the retreat from reality it offers.
Before too long Zola joins her, jumping into her lap, his missing paw not really a hindrance at all. He settles down and starts to purr, demanding she pet the old fellow, something she happily does. He’s her favorite among the fosters, quiet, stealthy, black as night, except those few spots around his muzzle where the hair is turning white from age.
The backdoor opens and she can hear Clint’s quiet steps in the kitchen, the faucet turning on and off (he’s always meticulous about hygiene where the animals are concerned) and then the fridge door opening. He rummages around for a little while, she can hear rustling and his quiet muttering (he can never be quiet for long), followed by a squawk as he closes the door. A smile ghosts over her lips; he’s brought the birds in then. And sure enough, Clint’s slightly sweaty face appears in the doorway, framed by a beautiful red parrot on each side. They cock their heads in a mocking imitation of his own when he asks, “Pasta and salad okay for dinner?”
She grins and nods, “Sure, birdman, you’re the chef.”
“Did you talk to Stark again? Seriously?” he smiles at the familiar nickname, cocking an eyebrow in that way that makes her heart burst.
“What if I have?” she replies coyly, a coy smile playing across her features. “I know he’s a showoff in court, but he does what’s best for the animals. And don’t forget that it’s his foundation that’s almost exclusively financing the shelter.”
“I still believe Pepper is responsible for the cases even making it to court,” Clint spits back. “But he’s not a bad guy, that’s for sure,” he concedes and blows her a kiss as he ducks back into the kitchen.
She abandons her book and Zola to get her mind out of the gutter and off the things she’d love to do to him right now and instead empties the litter boxes. Nolan, the aged white Persian with the bad hip watches her as she works and the look he graces her with has her giggling again. There’s clear revulsion evident on his squashed face, like handling his poo is the grossest thing anyone has ever done.
“Diva,” she laughs and as if he had understood it for the insult it is meant as, Nolan turns, walking away as gracefully as he can.
Still grinning, Tasha finishes her chore in no time flat while an appetizing smell wafts through the house from the kitchen. Clint is singing along to the radio, his deep smoky voice filling the house, going straight to Tasha’s stomach. The birds chime in, squawking loudly, and she rounds the corner to the kitchen to find Clint cutting vegetables for the salad, feeding Buddy and Holly, their truly ancient parrots, some of the pieces. He had begged her to take them in when their owner died of old age and none of his relatives or friends had been willing or able to look after the old couple, and as always she couldn’t deny him the wish.
He seems young and carefree where he’s swaying to the music’s beat and all she can think of is that the few feet between them are too many. She closes the distance between them and wraps her arms around his middle, molding herself to his body, inhaling his scent - sweat, animals and just Clint.
“Smells so good,” she murmurs, thinking how that man is more of a home to her than her relatives’ had ever been able to provide her with as a child.
“Dinner will be ready in a minute,” his voice rumbles in his chest, reverberating through her and she squeezes him tighter before placing a kiss between his shoulderblades and reluctantly releasing him.
“Wasn’t talking about dinner, hotstuff,” she smirks and sets the table, feeling his eyes on her the whole time.
<><><><><><>
The dogs join them in the living room after dinner; Tasha curls up in her armchair with her book again, while Clint sprawls across the couch, watching a baseball game on TV. His left hand is hanging down and scratching Harley’s scruff, the old, half-blind mutt snoring contentedly. Zola is curled on his chest, purring as Clint strokes his back, the sounds almost drowning out the announcer on TV, resonating through his chest and finally allowing his restless mind to relax.
He feels the strain of the day fall from him, the anger at everything he has seen, everything that it has brought back to the surface, memories of fists and belts against his own flesh melting back into the recesses of his mind. All that’s important now is his family.
“I’m really happy for Steve and Maria, they’re gonna be great parents,” he finally says, his heart aching a little, but the sentiment is heartfelt. He really is happy for the guy he loves like a little brother.
“Me too, they have wanted it for a long time,” Tasha says with a sigh, finding Clint’s gaze.
“So have we,” he says, his voice subdued, emotions all of a sudden close to the surface again. He buries his hand in Harley’s thick scruff and apparently pets Zola a little too hard, for the black cat makes a disgruntled noise and jumps off of him.
“Yes,” Tasha says and crosses the short distance to him, lying down on top of him, her warm hands gently cupping his face. “But you can’t always get what you want. We both know that. And I am just happy that I have you and our fur babies. It’s all I need.”
She gently smiles at him and presses her lips to his. He wraps his arms around her waist, holding her close as they kiss, and he can taste the truth of her words on her lips. He feels his eyes stinging, but her fingers on his cheeks brush away the traces of moisture.
“I love you, you and your big heart, Clint,” she says warmly, and he threads his fingers through her hair. Her green eyes find his blue ones and she’s so impossibly close, her gaze seeming to read his every thought and emotion, jumbled as they are at the moment. “How about we talk fostering someone less furry, more human shaped in the future?”
The grin that lights his face at her words threatens to split his skin, and he kisses her deeply as he flips them over, stealing the air from her lungs. She sighs when he settles on top of her and buries his head in the crook of her neck, his lips on her silky skin. One of the birds screeches in the kitchen, a dog woofs and one of the cats jumps onto his legs, pawing at his butt and he chuckles at the sensation. His wife’s soft lips press a kiss to his temple as she giggles into his ear, melodious and light.
If home is where the heart is, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.