“I loved her so much,” Yelena had said, her voice filled with the same pain that had been tearing Clint apart since Natasha had fallen. The tiny noise Yelena had made, when he had insisted that she couldn’t have stopped her sister, was ringing in his ears. All his grief, all of the gut wrenching horror that he had been feeling was reflected back to him on her face. This girl, who he knew so much about - he knew about how much she loved hot sauce, he knew how proud she had been of her vest and how much her mission to find and free all of the widows meant to her. He saw Natasha in her. And god, the hope that had been there for a moment, when she asked what Natasha had told him about her? The hope, that she might get a little piece of her sister back, just for a moment. She looked like a kid, she looked like Lila - brave, shouldering too much responsibility for her own damn good and still desperate to be told that she’d done a good job.
“You got so much time with her,” she’d told him. The ‘it wasn’t fair’ was silent, but he heard it. And he wanted to scream: he’d gotten so much time with Natasha, his best friend, his person, but he had seen how Yelena’s absence had always hurt her so bad. And he could see it here, on Yelena’s face too, how her big sister’s absence had hurt her, too.
Inviting Kate home to his farm for Christmas had been an impulse decision. He’d looked at her, this bull-headed but brave young woman, and he’d seen how lost she looked. Her mother had been arrested the night before. Her entire world had been turned upside down. He didn’t know what would happen to her if he left her there, on the doorstep of her aunt’s apartment. So he invited her along, and brought Lucky the Pizza Dog, and together they drove out of the city. They visited about unimportant things, and he was struck again and again by how naive she was. It made him laugh. She was a kid - she was far too young to be mixed up in all of this, yet she had behaved so admirably in the last few days. She was brave, and had a good heart. Her presence was growing on him.
His family hadn’t been surprised to see her with him when he showed up, and when he saw how they welcomed her with hugs and smiles, he knew he’d made the right decision. The day passed peacefully. He was so happy to be back together with his family, so grateful to have his kids spread around the room and his wife at his side. There would never be a day that he wouldn’t thank Nat for these moments. He would always honour her choice by never taking these moments for granted.
They were just sitting down to dinner when the doorbell rang. He exchanged a look with Laura and Kate, concern evident on both of their faces. Kate followed him to the door, clearly scared. He checked through the peephole, and his fear dispersed.
He opened the door.
Yelena Belova stood on his porch. Her hair was down, and she wore a bright green wool coat. She held a potted poinsettia. “Hello, Clint Barton,” she greeted him. “Kate Bishop,” she acknowledged, with a nod to his partner. She paused, and it was only his decades of spy training that showed Clint how nervous she was. “I am sorry to intrude, I know it is Christmas, but… I was hoping you might be able to tell me more about my sister?”
“Who’s this, Dad?” Clint turned. Nate stood there, looking between him and Yelena.
Clint suddenly vividly remembered Natasha whispering “traitor” against Laura’s pregnant belly when she’d learned that Nate was a boy, and how her main comment when he was born was “fat”, but that she’d cried happy tears the first time she’d held him.
“Nate, buddy, this is Yelena,” he said. “This is Auntie Nat’s sister.”
“Nate?” Yelena whispered. He turned back to her, and saw her eyes filling with tears.
“He was going to be Natasha,” Clint told her, “but then he was a boy.” He turned back to his son, and to Lila and Laura peeking around the corner into the room. “Laura,” he said, “could you please set another place at our table?”