It isn’t an every-day-occurrence that the world’s mightiest superheroes gather together in a room to spend their time peacefully. Because although they are finally able to take a break from saving the world and generally being awesome, calm tranquility is not really the Avengers-Style. Possibly, there could be a reason for this.

“Wednesday is movie night; GOD DAMNIT ROGERS, get your star-spangled ass over here, we ARE watching Shrek. This is CULTURE!”

Most possibly, this reason is a very eccentric engineering, world-saving, goatee-wearing genius billionaire. Precisely, peaceful tranquility is the exact opposite of everything that is quintessentially Tony Stark.

And since our heros can’t kick the man out of his own tower- considering that he allows them to live there and everything- such evenings are rare. Most of the time when they gather, there is generally a loud atmosphere with playful teasing, irritated bickering, and obscene amounts of food involved.

And since all the bad guys of the world seem to be taking a break during this time of the year, these gatherings happen more and more frequently, and all of their participants grow more and more fond of them (that doesn’t mean they would ever say that out loud, because superhero pride and all that).

Nursing a diet coke, Clint Barton smiles idly to himself and watches Stark and Rogers get into a heated argument about what should and shouldn’t be termed as ‘culture’. He loves this. Just spending time with his team-mates, his friends (and he doesn’t have many of those), successfully forgetting the heavy responsibility the world has placed into their hands. Life is easy, in those moments. It usually doesn’t last.

Although, he could make an effort to make it last.

They are all living at Stark Tower. Everyone. Well, everyone except for Clint.

Him moving-in would increase the time spent with the team, and consequently increase this warm fuzzy feeling in his stomach (“I’m not drunk, but thanks for trying to be helpful here, Nat”) whenever he does. He just can’t help himself.

He likes these idiots- he really likes them a whole fucking lot. It's not like he doesn’t want to or that they don’t want him to move in; if Tony’s hearty protests whenever he leaves are anything to go by (although Tony might be a liiiittle bit drunk while voicing them, but the sentiment seems to be genuine, nonetheless).

It’s just that Clint has a secret. A secret, that wasn’t necessarily supposed to stay one- it’s just something that alters living together with him drastically….and that is crucial enough that he should have mentioned it ages ago, especially in front of people he calls his friends.

But nobody knows- well, nobody except for Natasha, because Natasha knows literally everything and then some about him.

And to open up now seems… awkward. He realizes that it’s only awkward because it’s long-overdue; and the realization that waiting will only increase the awkwardness doesn’t make this any easier, thank you very much. Nat says he should just go for it. Nat, technically speaking, seems to be living and succeeding by this mantra; but Clint doubts that it will be useful in this special case.

Actually, that’s a lie. He knows she’s right (annoyingly, she does so, too), and he’s just a chicken-shit about it. Because revealing this secret would ultimately change their perception of him; and not in a fun or cringy kind of way, like realizing Steve still thinks that JARVIS lives in the ceiling or that Tony hides in his workshop for days at a time, sustaining himself on nothing but his genius, arrogance, and coffee.

No, this secret is something completely different. And Clint is not sure whether he’d be comfortable with the fallout. He likes the way they see him now: care-free, and dorky, and quick-witted- and … somehow it would change.

He is not ashamed- on the contrary; it’s hard not to be proud when you’re the adoptive father of the most charming little gal currently residing in the SHIELD headquarters; but nevertheless, it’s just something that nobody expects from him.

Hawk-eye Clint Barton, arrow-shooting, quick-moving superspy and general awesome guy as a father? It sounds silly, even to his own ears. Or more accurately it did, four years ago…

***

The mission had been over quick, but its aftermath was quite ugly. Clint wasn’t particularly fond of those tracking missions, and he didn’t really know why SHIELD needed the usb-stick currently nestled in his chest-pocket (but part of his recruiting as a SHIELD agent had been the strict order to never ask questions. They didn’t hire him to think. He was supposed to function).

The target had been chased down quickly but the majority of the fight had taken place- oh, the irony- in a circus. There was a great commotion underneath the performers; and one woman must have taken the opportunity to flee. Whatever she had been fleeing from, Clint could only guess later.

It didn’t really matter, people don’t always need a good reason to escape their sorry life. Most people, however, have the decency to leave nothing behind.

Most people. She wasn’t most people. She went without her child.

Phil said that’s not SHIELD’s problem. Clint disagrees. Phil kept trying to talk some sense into him over the intercom, while the archer talks to the elderly owner of the circus. Unsurprisingly, he’s very much alike the man who later prided himself with “having raised the famous Hawkeye like a child of my own”, when in reality Clint had raised himself.

They were all alike in a sense, and this wasn’t an environment to let a child grow up in. Nobody knows better than Clint.

And she was still so young, not older than five, six perhaps, and she already had that vacant look in her eyes; Clint recognizes the look of neglect when he sees it. He’s lived by it, for years.

She cried, a little bit, but didn’t ask about her mother. She did watch her leave. Phil’s rant reached its passionate crescendo, when the archer turned off the intercom. He kneeled in front of her carefully, like she’s a frightened animal that would flee at the first signs of danger.

Maybe she was, back then.

“Hey, don’t be scared.” he said quietly. “We’re the good guys.” he pointed his finger behind him, where some SHIELD agents were still gathered, unsure about what to do with this situation.

“Do you have anywhere to go? Family we could contact? You’re hurt.” It was true, there was a small trickle of blood running from her hairline down to the corner of her almond-shaped eyes.

She shook her head, slowly. Predictably.

“Do you want to stay at the circus? With your friends?” Again, a shake of the head. This time, more quickly. In fact, suddenly she seemed anxious to leave. To see such stress on such a young face is something Clint won’t be able to forget so easily.

“I’m Clint.” he extended his hand. She took it, cautiously. Her fingers were very cold.

“Lily.”

“Don’t worry, Lily. We’ll make sure everything’ll be alright.”

Clint Barton doesn’t know very much. Never did, never will. It’s a fact he has accepted about himself long ago; “There is no cure for stupid,” as his first and only foster father had put charmingly.

But he knows he just can’t leave this girl behind. Nobody had saved him, back then. He always had had to save himself.

Clint Barton doesn’t know much. But he knows how to make this right.

He had disobeyed orders before, and now Natasha is SHIELDs best agent. And Lily very much was, as Phil so nicely put it “SHIELD’s problem”. He argued his case. Phil said he was driving him insane. Right before he passed the order, that the girl should stay at the SHIELD headquarters, until an adequate caregiver could be found for her. His glance dared Clint to make a comment.

Phil Coulson is one of the few people that Clint has always considered to be his friends.

***

Revealing this is… private and huge; not to speak about the vulnerability of introducing his team to this part of himself that he had kept so carefully hidden.

Clint doesn’t trust people easily- just another ugly byproduct of being on the run for almost all his life (away from the foster homes, along with the circus, as a hired assassin, as an agent of SHIELD)- and he honestly doesn’t even know how to start with this.

In an outburst of sudden anxious energy, he fidgets with his phone to distract himself from the nervous fluttering in his guts and realizes that it’s almost ten-thirty; time to go back to SHIELD.

Clint rises from his seat with the quiet, delicate fashion of a cat, hoping to sneak out before they even fully realize that he’s gone. Nat’s eyes meet his from across the room and she rises an accusatory eyebrow at him. He shrugs and smiles kind of helplessly. It’s not exactly a secret that Natasha doesn’t approve of his handling of the situation at all; and if even a world-class spy criticizes your lack of openness, you know you’re doing something wrong.

***

Natasha had been royally pissed off when she realized what he considered to do. A child? What had he been thinking?! There’s no place for a child in a life like this. And there was certainly no place in his life for a child.

Lily had been at the SHIELD headquarters for half a year. It shouldn’t be this hard to find a caregiver for her, but Clint had the fishy feeling that some of the agents were growing attached to her, too. Or maybe even SHIELD wasn’t so heartless to withdraw the only safe space and comfort the little girl had known for a very long time.

Lily was adapting fast to the situation; and as she grew more comfortable around the agents, nothing of the shy, withdrawn girl was left. Lily was happy, probably happier than a child in her sorry situation usually was, and bright, and charmed half of SHIELD around her little finger.

She had found a special liking in Clint, since he was the reason she was staying at SHIELD at all. As for Clint, he adored her. He had never seen himself much of a parental type, his line of work made that thought almost impossible; but whenever Lily sneaked into the office he shares with Natasha, to nap on his couch; whenever she insisted on him reading to her, although his reading is slow and uncertain at times; whenever she laughed, the innocent laugh of childhood, filled with wonder and trust; whenever this happens, Clint wished he would know what it takes to be a good father.

***

As time flies by, Clint still finds himself wishing for the same thing occasionally. He’s doing his best. There are good days, very good days; and bad days, very bad. Days where he realizes the ridiculousness of his efforts- how could a father-less good-for-nothing who never really had a childhood know how to raise a child? How could he pretend that he knows what to do?

During those days, the archer tries even harder than usual; just to feel like he isn’t failing at the only thing he’s really trying to be excellent at.

All those years ago, she needed a legal guardian. There had been a sudden gaping emptiness in Clint’s chest. Natasha was right, this was insane. But he just didn’t care.

Maybe that had been his first step to become a good father.

Clint eyes his best friend for a thoughtful moment. They've come a long way; Natasha and Lily. It's actually a little miracle in itself; how a badass Russain agent and a half-Korean probably orphan (Nobody knows where her biological father is) became friends; how Natasha became "Auntie Tasha" and Lily became "little fox". 

When Nat catches him watching, she gives him one of her slow, teasing smirks. If you’re playing against Natasha Romanoff, you should know that she’s playing dirty.

Clint knows.

They invented this game together.

So, when Clint passes her on his way to the door and she trips him with a smug grin, he isn’t even surprised. The noise interrupts the heated Rogers-Stark-argument and startles a very sleepy Bruce Banner, who had been out like a light as soon as the opening credits began. Suddenly, all eyes are on him, as he peels himself as gracefully as he can off the floor.

“Aw, you’re leaving already?” And there it is, the patented Tony Stark pout that usually makes all resolves waver. It would be easier if they didn’t like him as much. Or if he didn’t like them.

“It’s getting late.” he trails off and wishes it wouldn’t feel so much like he’s deceiving his friends.

Tony, now next to him, settles a hand on his arm. Clint can’t deny that he likes the warm weight of it and the genuine expression on Stark’s face but tries not to think about it. Actually, he has been trying more and more not to think about Tony lately, and this might become a problem.

“C’mon, birdbrain; the night is young, so are we!” After a second of thought, he eyes Steve warily. “Or at least some of us are.” Steve scoffs something about grey hair that Tony pointily ignores.

“I should get going.” Clint says, and lets himself be led back to the couch. He’s usually not the irresolute type- but there’s something about Tony that make him second-guess himself. Something about the engineer is intriguing and… he really shouldn’t go there. Not now. Perhaps, not ever.

Not completely giving up control, he leans against the back of the couch instead of being seated; but accepts the re-fill of his glass. A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt he argues with himself; Lily’s fine, Maria Hill is an excellent babysitter.

“You’re hiding something.” Tony, who sprawled himself on said couch with his feet crowding in Steve’s personal space, props his head up on the backrest and gives Clint a calculating upside-down stare. The look of curious determination on the geniuses’ face makes Clint grin despite of the tense situation.

“I bet it’s a lady.” the engineer adds, poking the archer in the stomach. Clint tries very hard to suppress a laugh; only Tony can manage to be so wrong and so right at the same time. Nat’s stare bores in the back of his head. He doesn’t even have to turn around to know the look on her face.

“No kiss and tell.” he murmurs mysteriously into his glass. There’s a groan coming from Natasha’s direction. He ignores it with admirable patience. Someday, she’ll try to murder him, most likely.

“You’re no fun, Katniss.” Tony huffs, but his eyes tell that he doesn’t really mean it. Nevertheless, he eyes him warily like a puzzle that requires solving, and the archer feels three more sets of eyes on him.

Somehow, the moment has grown quite tense, and Clint feels really uncomfortable with being the center of their suspicious attention. There’s something about being watched that he avoids like the plague; something about the possibility of being seen that sets off a nervous itching that starts in his palms and travels the length of his whole body. Clint prefers hiding.

He hasn’t always been that way…

***

The childhood in a circus is riddled with a complete lack of privacy, be it during the show or afterwards. Bunks and clothes are usually shared, time alone is rare, and everything that defines you as a person- the good, the bad, and the ugly- is laid out in the open, for everyone to examine. The others see you, but they will never judge: They’re as broken as you are. Their stories are burned into their skin like a stigma; a body mapped with wounds that tell tragedies nobody ever asks about. Because they know. They know you’re like them.

After all these years, Clint still catches himself scrubbing his wounds sometimes, as if they would disappear if he only tried hard enough. But you can’t scrub off yourself. And while the physical ones might fade with time, the scarring on the heart is not easily tended to.

But that’s another story nobody wants to hear.

The people who come to the circus gape at you, for you are not like them. You can dance on a tightrope, and swallow a sword, or set yourself on fire- you are a misfit, an abnormity they only allow into their world for a certain amount of time and only from a good distance away.

If you’re good-looking, they undress you with their eyes, for you’re the piece of meat they’re allowed to lust over, because you are strange- and all the beauty in the world can’t change that you’re a freak that is not like them.

You know that’s not true. You know they don’t know the you that’s hiding behind the mask. It doesn’t matter. They won’t change their perception. You never bothered to try and make them.

As an assassin, you’re invisible- that is your job. You’re also completely alone. For someone who has never been alone his whole life, being alone is like a revelation. You suddenly realize that it’s not the circumstances that make you lonely. It’s the people. In all of his life, a 20-year-old hired assassin named Clint Barton realized- after having shot three men straight in the heart- that he has never felt less lonely, than he does when being all alone.

SHIELD changed him. SHIELD changed everything; gave him a future he hasn’t had the slightest idea how to handle; and suddenly there came this woman into his life, who was as broken as him, a woman who understood.

Suddenly, Clint couldn’t stand to be alone anymore. Him and Natasha are both halves of a very unsettling whole, but they click, and they help each other heal. People assume that they’re together, that they fuck occasionally, that they belong to each other in a simpler, romantic and sexual sense. They find peace in never confirming or denying the rumors. It’s easier than trying to explain these emotions between them. Clint is pretty sure they wouldn’t believe him, anyway. Natasha’s beautiful, and that’s about all the justification they seem to need. Clint knows better. He also knows that she is loyal to the ones she considers family, and deadly to the ones she considers a threat.

Fast forward a few years; and would you look at that, he’s that guy now:  Working in a team and having friends. A good guy. Who only kills if necessary and kills for a greater goal; not just for the satisfaction of succeeding in something that everyone else fears to do. He no longer is the guy who prides himself for the people he has killed. He’s a good guy now, a guy who safes people.

At least he tries.

He tries, and it’s hard. But he has Lily, and he did save Lily; or maybe she did save him; really, he can’t be sure at this point.

But as long as he is able to hug his daughter at the end of the day, he feels like he has achieved something good in his life.

***

The sound of his phone pulls the archer right out of his head. The nostalgia is instantly forgotten and replaced by a cold-blooded panic. There aren’t many people who know his number, and four of them are currently in the same room with him. His heart sinks right into his guts when he sees Maria Hill’s caller ID.

He scrambles to answer the call, but his fingers shake clumsily. He can’t help himself, it’s always like that when it’s about Lily.

While he slams the phone against his ear (and winces because it knocks hard against his hearing-aid), he wastes a split second to think about leaving the room- or the tower, really; but it’s urgent, and he’s anxious, and who gives a fuck about what they think, anyway? (He does. Let’s not go there. It’s easier to pretend that you’re unaffected.) He turns his face away from all of them, but it’s not like they didn’t catch his sudden change of posture.

It’s a vain attempt to fool the genius of two scientists and the enhanced senses of a super-human. Also considering the fact that the Avengers are the worst gossip girls he ever met, Clint’s very obviously sailing a sinking ship here. At least Thor’s currently off to whatever, or else the news would have been spread across the whole fucking universe.

The air in the very room has changed, and he tries not to think about how confused and perhaps worried they all feel while seeing him like this. Clint doesn’t want to bother anyone with himself. Clint prefers hiding over being a burden, any day.

“Is she alright?” he doesn’t even say ‘hello’, but Maria is used to his fits of fatherly hysteria by now.

“Sorry for interrupting,” she sounds apologetic; but not like it’s time to freak out. So, Clint tries, being the responsible parent that he is, to not freak out. His attempt is semi-successful. He realizes that he’s gripping the couch so hard that the leather is already straining underneath his grip, so he forces to relax his fingers.

“We’re fine.” The vice around his intestines loosens a little bit. He forces himself to take a steady breath. Responsible parental figure. Calm responsible parental figure.

He hears Maria sigh her small trademark sigh. “She had a nightmare.”

Clint finally relaxes. They’ve been battling on and off with nightly terrors pretty much since he had known Lily. Things she never told him about, probably because she was too young to comprehend them fully, things about her mother and the circus come and haunt her sometimes.

It’s the routine they worked on long and detailed- there had been a couple of rough missions away (even if he didn’t take anything that was longer than a few days, Avengers business being the absolute exception), but they worked it out. They had their little routine that could be done even when he was away, and it helped Lily to overcome the separation anxiety she often felt but never voiced.

“Hand her over.” He leans against the couch and forgets where he is for a moment. It seems insignificant now. Not even the eyes glued to his back bother him too much. If this is it, then be it. Maybe he’s just tired of hiding. Maybe he just really fucking wants to talk to his daughter right now. Maybe he wants them to know him. At least, that’s what he’ll tell himself later on his way to the SHIELD headquarters, re-playing and analyzing and doubting the situation over and over.

But that’s still distant, now.

There’s a little bit of shuffling on the other end of the line, and then a very quiet voice breaths into the receiver: “Dad.”

***

Clint still remembers the first time she had called him “Dad”. Clint would remember this moment until his dying day, he later vows to himself. He still remembers feeling absolutely terrified and strangely calm about the trust this little human being has placed into his hands. He doesn’t know how they went from “Clint” to “Dad”, but it happened somewhere along the lines; and if Clint ever had a shred of doubt about the adoption, it vanishes whenever he hears her deep affirmation of trust and affection again.

***

“I’m here, honey.”

He hears a relived little sigh at the end of the line. How he deserves to be loved like this, Clint will never know.

“Maria said you were having a bad dream. Do you want to talk about it?”

A moment of silence. Then, still quiet: “No.”

“That’s alright.”

“Are you coming home?” His heart melts into a little puddle.

“Of course, I’m as good as back already.” To emphasize his point, he pushes himself away from the couch, although she can’t see him.

The others do, though. He meets Nat’s eyes, but ignores the rest. She mouths something that looks distinctive like ‘Finally, old coward’, but Clint just smiles.

“Auntie Tasha says hi.” Somewhere behind him, Tony chokes on his drink.

Lily’s voice brightens considerably: “Hi back! Make sure she doesn’t forget about ice-cream on Saturday!”

Clint makes sure she can hear his laugh: “I’ll tell her, Lils. Now. How about you tell Maria to make you a hot coco, grab Lion and choose a fun book to read?”

“Daaad. I’m not a baby.” Clint grins, for he knows things like these work every time: they worked when she was six, and they work now, although Lily insist she’s very grown-up for her ten years. It’s their routine, and their routine is safety; although she can read better than him by now, although the books they choose for this occasion are a tad too childish for her age; it’s more about reminiscing the safe space they are building around them, like a little bubble.

“’course you’re not, honey. Your dad’s just being silly.” Somewhere behind him, Tony now drops his drink.

There’s a small moment of silence. When she speaks again, her voice is softer again, but much warmer: “Saranghaeyo” (Ko: I love you).

Clint’s still not very smart, he left school early as soon as he acquired the bare minimum of everything, but he tries to learn Korean for her sake. It’s only fair, considering she’s done a beautiful job to learn sign language for him, for the moments where his hearing aids aren’t working, or they need a private conversation in a room full of people.

“Nado Saranghaeyo” (Ko: I love you too). He closes his eyes and just smiles to himself for a long moment.

“Be safe, Dad.”

“I’ll be back before you know it, honey.”

The call ends, and for a moment Clint just stands there. Natasha catches his eyes and is practically giddy with pride; so giddy that Clint forgets to be self-conscious about the huge fucking thing he just revealed about himself. Instead, he flashes her one of his famous grins. If Nat learned to be alright with it- although ‘being alright’ might be the understatement of the century here- so could the others. And if they couldn’t…. well. That’s a thought for another day.

“Lily tells you to not forget about ice-cream on Saturday” he states, calmer than he feels. Nat gives him a thumbs-up, before glancing around to savor in the reaction of the others. Now curious himself, Clint risks a peek, too.

Bruce has his mildly surprised face on, but the risk of waking other guy always keeps his emotions relatively at bay. Steve eyes him with his trademark expression somewhere between confused and interested, a look Clint is achingly familiar with by now. Steve looks like that about a lot of things.

Tony, however. Always the dramatic, that Stark. He practically gapes at Clint, mouth opening and closing around a remark his brain yet has to work out; and the archer laughs, because the so-called genius looks like a fucking moron while doing it.

Some of the tension in the air melts, for Nat joins in, too. Even Steve and Bruce are very politely stifling snickers. At last, Tony closes his mouth with a click.

“You broke him,” Nat states dead-serious, with a shit-eating grin.

Tony gives her a look, before fixing his gaze to the drink he had dropped- obviously thinking hard- before he eyes Clint like he just solved the greatest fucking mystery in the history of ever.

The archer should feel uncomfortable under this intense gaze, but the relief of finally having his biggest secret out in the open, is enough to make him feel calm; for the time being. There’s nothing to hide; for now. They know- now they have to deal with it. He’s done his part.

“I have questions.” Tony states very calmly, while trying (and failing) to imitate Cap’s ‘no nonsense’ expression.

Before Clint can even open his mouth, Natasha jumps in. “And Clint’s needed elsewhere. We have time for one question right now, I’ll deal with the rest.” Clint could have kissed her, that woman was a marvel.

Tony puts his thinking face back on. “She’s the reason you’re not living with us?” he asks finally, timidly.

Clint didn’t expect that, to be honest (and to judge the surprise on the other’s faces, neither did they), but nodded without a moment of hesitation.

Tony huffs, as if he’s considering this answer, then looks away, eying his hands. Almost hesitate, an adjective not normally associated with the eccentric billionaire.

“The offer still stands, if, you know, if that’s something you both would feel comfortable with.”

Clint is taken aback by the sincerity and humbleness coming from such a loud, exaggerated person. He looks around, in search for confirmation or help or both, and is met with open faces, none of which seem to be against the idea. Even Bruce, who’s usually very hesitate when it comes to changes due to his little big green problem, gives him one of his fond ‘You’re an idiot’ looks.

Huh.

They really like him.

The moment seems still a bit surreal to him when Natasha ushers him to the exit, while she whispers reassurances to him, that she totally got the situation under control, and that she’ll fill them in on all the details that are important. Clint still wants to kiss her.

So, he does; pecking her on the cheek, and it speaks more volumes than words ever could.

They got each other’s backs. That’s what family does.

Later that night, when all thoughts about nightmares are a distant memory, and Lily gently snuffles in the room next door, Clint allows himself to hope.

Maybe, just maybe, his family is about to expand.