Chapter Text
“Babysitting?”
Clint and Natasha exchanged looks.
“What Barton means is this isn’t the assignment we were expecting.”
On the way over, they had been trying to predict their new assignment. Since it came from Fury instead of Coulson, their ideas had been much bigger, more dangerous, more exciting. Babysitting didn’t measure up in the least.
“She’s not just any kid,” Fury said. Then he sighed. “I get enough flak about my deputy director being too young as it is.” He looked back into the living room. “As it was.”
“That’s Hill?” asked Clint incredulously. “What happened?”
Natasha peeked around the corner. Little Maria was sat on the armchair reading a book, and Natasha could tell that Maria was trying to eavesdrop. Her eyes scanned the pages, which she turned regularly, but the tense shoulders gave her away. At five years old, Maria was good though. Natasha had to give her that.
“That’s not important,” Fury deflected. “What matters is that SHIELD has plenty of enemies that want to see its deputy director dead. I’m counting on you two not to let that happen.”
“And what does she think is happening?” asked Natasha.
“We’re friends of her mother, and we’re looking after her for a while. But she’s a smart kid. She knows something’s not right,” Fury explained. Much like with Rogers’ defrosting, all technology in the safe house was time period specific, which in child Maria’s case was the 1980s. He handed Natasha a folder. “In case she asks about her.”
Natasha opened the folder to find a dossier on the mother that Maria had never known. After a quick look through, she handed the file to Clint and went to introduce herself to Maria.
“Hi, Maria,” Natasha said gently as she sat on the coffee table across from her. Maria put her book down to observe the newcomer. “I’m Natasha. My friend Clint and I are going to be looking after you for a while.”
“Hi,” Maria responded quietly but said nothing else.
“Watcha reading?” Natasha asked.
Maria showed her the cover. “It’s a book on the ocean.”
Natasha smiled. Of course it was. Anyone who knew Maria knew how much she enjoyed swimming in the ocean. “Want to tell me about it?”
Maria shrugged.
“Hey, kid,” Clint’s voice suddenly said behind them. “You ever shoot an arrow before?”
Natasha spun around quickly and was relieved to see that his bow was accompanied by non-lethal plunger arrows. Still, only time would tell how disastrous of an idea that was.
…
About an hour after tucking Maria in for the night, Natasha noticed a child-sized silhouette sneaking down the hallway. She gave the child a bit of a head start before tailing her.
They ended up in the kitchen. Natasha watched as Maria pulled the refrigerator door open then dragged a chair over to the fridge.
“It’s okay if you want milk after bedtime, but you’ve got to tell me,” said Natasha as Maria reached for the gallon jug of milk on the top shelf.
Maria froze then turned to look at her guiltily. Natasha grabbed the milk out of the fridge and retrieved two cups.
“I can do it,” Maria protested.
“I know, but maybe I’d enjoy the company.”
They sat in companionable silence for a while before Maria broke it. “Did my dad give me up?”
The sudden question surprised Natasha. “What?”
It wasn’t the question itself that surprised her. She’d heard enough about Maria’s father to know the child would consider it an actual possibility. Natasha just hadn’t expected Maria to actually voice it. Throughout the day, Natasha had observed that child Maria was as closed-off as adult Maria.
“You can tell me if he did.”
“No,” Natasha replied vehemently. “Didn’t Nick explain what’s happening? We’re friends of your mother. We’re just trying to get to know you.”
“What was she like?” Maria asked curiously.
Natasha recited some intel from the dossier. She mentioned how much Maria looked like her mother. She talked about what a good person she was, how she was fair, loyal, and kind.
“She sounds perfect,” said Maria, sounding intimidated. She stared at the bottom of hew now empty cup. In a barely audible voice, she admitted, “Sometimes Dad says the wrong person died the day I was born.”
At that, Natasha was out of her chair and kneeling beside Maria’s. She gently guided Maria’s chin up until their eyes met. “That’s not how it works. It’s not a trade-off, and even if it was, it doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t trade you for her. Your mother wouldn’t either.”
Maria didn’t look convinced but nodded all the same.
“You want to go back to bed?” Natasha asked and wasn’t surprised when Maria shook her head. “I didn’t think so. Want to draw on Clint’s face while he sleeps? I’m sure we can find some markers somewhere.”
…
The sound of a crash emanated from the living room followed by Clint shouting, “I didn’t do it!”
Natasha sighed. Whatever had happened, Clint had done it; of that, Natasha was sure. He wasn’t so chivalrous that he wouldn’t blame whatever happened on a five-year-old who he knew wouldn’t get in trouble.
She made her way to the living room where she found Clint and Maria standing around the shards of ceramic vase that previously stood on the mantel. Maria was fighting back a smile, vestiges of their previous night’s conversation forgotten. That was perhaps helped along by the green glasses, orange smiley face, and purple mustache drawn on Clint’s face.
“Clint, what did you do?” Natasha asked sternly.
“I didn’t do it,” Clint reiterated, holding his hands up in the classic I’m innocent gesture. “It just fell by itself. Right, Maria?”
Unable to stop herself, Maria giggled, and Natasha said, “I knew it.”
“Oh you little traitor.” Clint swooped Maria up in his arms, one hand holding her firmly as the other tickled her tummy. She squirmed, laughter and gasps escaping from her mouth as she herself tried to escape from Clint’s grasp.
Their frivolity was short-lived.
Red lasers shone through the curtains, and Clint quickly curled protectively around Maria as bullets shot through the windows. Natasha and Clint pulled out their concealed weapons. In Clint’s arms, Maria had squeezed herself into the tiniest ball she could but had otherwise stayed silent and still.
“Call Fury,” Natasha said as she returned fire.
Clint nodded and carried Maria away.
...
When SHIELD reinforcements arrived, Clint got Maria out of the house as quickly as possible. On their way in, a few of the STRIKE members did double takes as they saw him, but he didn’t think anything of it. He made a beeline for Fury and Sitwell.
After giving Maria a once over to make sure she was okay, Fury said, “Hey, Maria, I need you to go with Jasper, so I can talk to Clint for a bit.“
Clint placed Maria on the ground, but Maria eyed Sitwell suspiciously and didn’t move.
The crash of a window breaking had Clint curling around Maria once again.
They turned to the house where one of the assailants had been thrown out a window. Natasha jumped through and made sure he was down with a solid punch to the face.
Suddenly Maria took off. Clint caught up with her easily, scooping her up into his arms once again. “Hey, where do you think you’re going?”
“Natasha’s hurt,” said Maria, fixated on the bullet graze on Natasha’s upper left arm.
Clint was so used to seeing Natasha with cuts and bruises during missions that he’d been solely focused on the fact that she’d had the wherewithal to leave someone alive for questioning. He hadn’t thought about how it’d affect Maria.
Natasha looked up from the unconscious body below her. Her face softened. “I’m okay, kiddo. It’s just a scratch.”
Maria refused to leave Natasha’s side and sat beside her as a medic patched up her arm. It gave Clint and Fury the opportunity to debrief each other on the situation, and Fury told Clint the backup safe house’s location.
“Does the STRIKE team know who she is?” Clint asked. “They were giving me funny looks as I carried her out.”
Fury gazed at him, his face a stoic mask. “As far as they’re concerned, she’s the child of a VIP. Maybe they’re not used to seeing you hold a child like that.”
It wasn’t until they were leaving and Sitwell complimented him on his “nice glasses” with a smirk that Clint realized he still had Maria and Natasha’s drawings on his face.
…
After they arrived at the second safe house, Clint made sure the rooms were clear then set out to do a perimeter check as Natasha brought Maria in.
Natasha immediately sat Maria down on one of the couches in the living room and crouched in front of her.
“I know you’re confused and scared right now, and I can’t give you a good explanation of what’s happening, but I need you to know this is not your fault.”
Tears welled in Maria’s eyes. “You got hurt.”
“That has nothing to do with you,” Natasha reassured her.
Maria lip quivered, but she tried to stay strong. “It’s always my fault.”
“It’s not.”
“You’re here to take care of me, right? That’s what you said.”
“Yeah, but that’s not –”
“You wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for me, right?”
Big, wet, blue eyes gazed desperately at her, and Natasha couldn’t help but feel Maria was detrimentally logical for a five-year-old.
“I’m going to get you killed. Just like my mom.”
The thought had Maria trying to race around her, but Natasha pulled her into a tight hug. Sobs took over Maria’s small frame, leaving her quaking in Natasha’s arms.
“How you’re feeling right now, that’s how I feel too. Yeah, I got hurt, but it would hurt me more if anything happened to you. You can’t leave me, okay?” Natasha murmured. “We have to be here for each other.”
She was relieved to feel Maria nod into her shoulder.
Clint peeked in to signal everything was secure then disappeared to give them space.
Once Maria calmed down, Natasha found some puzzles for her to do. She figured it would help Maria to have something logical to be in control over.
Natasha watched as Maria systematically worked her way through the puzzle: organizing the pieces by color or feature and completing the edge first. The quiet intensity of the adult Maria that she knew had Natasha smiling. She thought the furrowed brow was particularly cute.
Clint joined them after a while, bringing in a plate of cookies and three glasses of milk. His face was finally cleared of the marker drawings. He made Maria laugh as he lost cookies in his milk and tried to retrieve them by drinking them out of the glass, leaving him with a white mustache. It seemed he was destined to have a mustache one way or another.
Natasha knew this moment was a temporary reprieve – that the ridiculous sense of guilt Maria’s father had drilled into her would rear its head again – but she figured she’d enjoy the peace while it lasted.
…
They had to move two more times after that.
The first was thankfully quiet as Fury tipped them off before any hostiles arrived. The second had Clint and Natasha seeing red.
They were asleep when the attack occurred. As soon as Clint and Natasha realized what was happening, they dashed for Maria’s room, fending off assailants as they did so. They arrived to see Maria putting up a fight. In the ensuing scuffle, Maria was thrown against a wall, knocking her unconscious.
They didn’t leave anyone alive for questioning that time. The only “good” part of Maria being unconscious, Clint thought to himself, was that she couldn’t see how terrifyingly brutal it had made them. Sitwell had looked a little green after seeing some of the bodies.
Love is for children, Natasha reminded herself as she sat by Maria’s bedside the following night. But where Maria was concerned, she guessed that was okay.
…
Epilogue
Deputy Director Maria Hill handed Clint a pair of glasses. “For your cover.”
Clint turned them over in his hands. He looked up at her and smiled, “You don’t want to draw them on for me?”
“What?”
The slight furrow of Maria’s brow had Natasha feeling very nostalgic.
Openly so apparently because Maria was looking at Strike Team Delta like they had grown second heads. “What’s going on with the two of you?”
“Nothing,” Natasha said evenly.
Respecting Maria’s wishes, they hadn’t told her anything about her time as a child. She seemed to think it would be a source of nothing but embarrassment. They disagreed but didn’t push the issue.
“Okay, then you’re dismissed,” Maria said, confused but deciding it was okay to stay that way.
As they left, Clint asked Natasha, “Do you think I should’ve asked for a mustache too?”