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May. 27th, 2019 11:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lonehawkLaura moved around the room, keeping half an eye on the clock above the chalkboard as she did, counting the ticks of the second hand as she looked over the paintings on the tables in front of the children of her after school class, and also listening with half an ear to the murmuring that was building up in the short hallway outside the room. The murmurs of the kids in the room as they talked quietly with their neighbors covered up the parents gathering outside, but she knew that would change as soon as she told them class was over.
Which was... five, four, three, two...
With a small nod to herself, Laura gave a quick, sharp whistle and one clap of her hands to get their attention, and fifteen heads popped up to look at her in surprise. “All right guys, pack it up, it's time to go. If you didn't finish your work today, set them on your shelf and we'll get back to them next week.”
A sudden burst of talk answered her proclamation as kids who'd been wrapped up in the creative spirit were brought back down to earth again, looking from their teacher to the clock as they processed what was going on. It only took a few moments for them to realize it was six, the time for the class to end, and that several parents were standing out in the hallway waiting for them to come out, some of them peering through the door. Chairs screeched against the floor as students shoved back from the tables, one of them pushing so hard he knocked over the cup of rinse water he'd been using for his brushes, and Laura dove forward to catch the falling cup as Jason yelled and snatched his painting away from the spreading water puddle before it could be ruined. Willow and Corey on either side of him also grabbed their work, but grabbed his brushes as well before they could roll off the table and get trampled in the general rush for the storage shelves and the industrial-sized sinks along the south wall. Work in progress went on the third shelf along the west wall, used brushes into the (cleaned) coffee cans set up on the sink ledge, water down the drain and cups in the first sink basin. Laura had her students well-trained at this point, and it helped that every kid wanted to be there: this wasn't an art class at school that everyone had to take for some sort of credit, it was a class at a facility dedicated to the arts, and only the arts, with limited slots and a not-inconsiderable registration fee, and it wasn't the first level of the class either. All of the kids in the class had been through the first two courses and clearly wanted to be in the third, their current class, which meant that she had very few discipline problems with this batch. There were always a few problems in the first level, when parents basically used the class as a babysitting service and some kids didn't just want to be there, but by this point those issues had been weeded out, and she genuinely loved seeing her kids grow physically, mentally, and artistically, even if most of them would never be professionals.
She suppressed a sigh as Jason grabbed the roll of emergency paper towels and came back to help her clean up the spill, apologizing for how clumsy he'd been, and turned a smile on him as she gently rapped him on the forehead with her knuckles. “You didn't mean it and you're helping clean up. That's good enough for me.” The twelve-year-old boy gave her a lopsided grin before going back to soaking up the water on the floor with the paper towels, while she covered the table and went to get the Lysol just to be safe. Once the mess was cleaned up, Laura collared him before he could run out the door to make him wash his hands, and then let him go to meet his mother out in the parking lot. By that point the other kids had cleared out, and she watched out the window as most of them got in their parents' cars and drove off. A pair of sisters was still outside, waiting for their mother to get there after work, but they'd brought chalk with them and spread out on the sidewalk to draw some more while waiting for her. All in all, it was a calming, pleasant scene.
And it brought her back to the thing that had been troubling her for a couple of days, though she was way too much of a professional to let it show in front of her students. After their date two nights before, after the amazing sex high had faded and she'd practically glued herself to Clint's well-muscled frame when he'd climbed back in bed, Laura had ventured that since they'd been together for almost a year, and sexually active for almost that long, that she wanted to talk to her doctor about getting the Depo Provera shot so they could do without condoms. What they had was real, the connection between them unmistakable to everyone around them, and unless something changed drastically it felt like a relationship she wanted to hold on to as long as she could – possibly even forever. She wasn't ready for children yet, but she wanted to feel Clint in her as they made love, feel how perfectly they fit together without any barriers between them. Not to mention all the money they would save on condoms, and they both knew they were clear from any STIs. But when she'd said without condoms, Clint had tensed minutely against her, and the rest of the words faded before she could finish her argument, a strange, uneasy quiet coming over her bedroom, only broken by the faint snoring whuffs of Andy splayed out on his dog bed in the next room.
After almost two solid minutes of silence, he'd finally responded. ...I don't think I'm ready for that. She'd had to take a moment herself to get up the nerve to ask, Do you think you ever will be?
His silence had told her more than she really wanted to know.
They'd talked briefly the next day, but Clint had a delivery to make to eastern Ohio for his boss after a half-shift on site, and so there wasn't time to really discuss the sudden, giant knot in her gut. That evening she'd sat on her couch with a bottle of wine and a sketch pad she was idly doodling on, vaguely disgusted with herself for becoming a stereotype but knowing there was a lot she needed to think about and hoping that the alcohol would let her true thoughts float more freely to the top of her scattered mind. She'd ended up with a mess of wants and needs she couldn't sort out and a low pressure at the back of her skull that signaled an oncoming headache, and so she'd gone to bed without any sort of answer for her dilemma.
Laura sighed and reached behind her head to pull her hair back with the elastic she kept around her wrist, moving to the sink to finish the clean up. With her adult classes everyone had to take care of their own equipment and perform their own washing up, but until the higher levels of the childrens' classes it was just easier to have them sort out their tools and have her do the actual cleaning. Since it was a watercolor class and it was just the brushes, cups, and plastic palettes, she didn't mind, and today it gave her something to occupy herself with physically while she continued her train of thought about her future with Clint – or if they could really have one. Because Laura knew she wanted children, and every signal Clint had ever given her told her that he didn't, and even if everything else was perfect in a relationship (which they came really damn close to), that was a huge thing to disagree on.
Not that she could really blame him. He'd had positive adult role models, and positive examples of families, but his own family had been, in his own words, “fucking terrible.” His mother had sounded like an overall nice woman, but his father... Laura sighed again, squeezing her eyes shut and letting the water run over her hands as she carefully cleaned brushes, shaking her head a little. Her own father had had “episodes” too many times in her life for her to not know how a person could switch back and forth between settings at the drop of a hat, but she had never been afraid of her father in his moments of dissociation. Afraid of what might happen, afraid of not getting him back, but never afraid of him, of his strong hands and sharp eyes, his quick mind and his caring smile that could go hollow and lost when the memories overtook him. But according to Clint, he'd never seen Harold Barton without being at least a little afraid of what might happen, what words might come out of his mouth or what his fists might do, and even if that was the exaggeration of childhood memories evolving over time it had certainly happened. She'd seen the faded, nearly-invisible scars on his skin from bones being broken, cuts and falls and all the things that could occur to any active child, but the matter-of-fact tone that Clint used when talking about how he'd acquired most of those during his father's alcohol-fueled rages convinced her that he wasn't making any of it up. Maybe it wasn't Christian to be glad that a person was dead, but an undeniable portion of her was thankful that he was removed from her boyfriend's life before he could ruin him. There were people who were a benefit to the world, and there were people who weren't, and Harold absolutely fit into that second camp.
So the fact that Clint was undeniably nervous – even terrified – of having children wasn't a surprise to her, even though he'd never actually said it. He didn't have to. She'd had to cancel a date a few months before when Marcia had needed a last minute babysitter, and when she'd asked him to come over anyway and they could at least watch a movie, he'd declined suspiciously fast. Whenever she mentioned the part of her childhood dreams for the future that involved having children, he'd always changed the subject. His response to telling him she was going to be an aunt a few months ago had been a lackluster that's great. Two nights before was the closest they'd ever come to actually talking about it, but this wasn't a conversation they needed to have in explicit wording for her to know the outcome. And it was so sad, because he was great with kids, and she suspected he didn't realize just how great he was, but it wasn't something he would ever acknowledge. He'd spent his life proving he wasn't like his father, in any way, but this was the one thing he couldn't let go of and see how much that statement was true. He was too terrified of subjecting another child to what he'd been through to consider the possibility for more than a moment. And she couldn't force him to face those fears directly by putting him in a situation where he'd have to suck it up and do it, and in fact felt a little sick at the idea of trapping him in that way.
“Damnit...” she whispered as her stomach cramped a little and she felt moisture at the corner of her eye. The brushes were clean now, each one deposited in another coffee can to drip dry when she finished with them – and it was a mark of how big a part of her life Clint was now that she didn't even remember that they'd been his coffee cans, ones she'd stolen (with his permission) when she realized how useful they could be for her classes. It was just that way for them now, an easy give and take, the assumption that everything would be taken care of together, even if they still didn't share one roof. And maybe the whole kid thing was the reason for that, too... Laura let the clean water run over her hands, rinsing the paint away, and reached up to scrub her face to get rid of the tears threatening to fall and bring herself back down to earth. She shouldn't borrow trouble, this was a conversation she needed to have with Clint, not circle around in her own hea-
“Surprise,” a low voice murmured next to her ear as hands slid around her middle, making her shriek and jump as the voice laughed. She spun around and automatically brought up a fist to hit her boyfriend smack in the shoulder, pouting a bit at how it barely rocked him and glaring at him. “Clint! Don't do that, I nearly had kittens! What are you doing here, anyway?”
Still grinning (and laughing just a little), Clint obediently stepped back to give her a little space, glancing down to the floor. At that point she noticed that Andy was there too, sniffing her hand and wagging his tail, and she reached forward to scratch him around the ears even as she wondered how lost in thought had she been. Clint had the almost supernatural ability to walk as quietly as a ninja and by now she was used to that, but she should have been able to hear Andy's nails on the polished cement floor as they came in. “We just got back – traffic's a real bitch today, and I didn't want to fight it to get back to the apartment yet. And since your class is over, I thought maybe you'd wanna get some takeout and we could crash on the couch?”
“Sure.” Laura had to smile; no matter how depressing the thoughts she'd been focusing on had been, Clint had still come to visit her at work before he'd gone back to his place after a trip, even just an overnight one. He wanted to see her, wanted to spend the evening together, and didn't take it for granted that she'd be available to do that when they hadn't already made plans. She loved him so much... “I'm almost done, I just have to finish washing up. Shouldn't take me more than ten minutes.”
“I'll help, then we can get out of here faster. After this.” Moving forward again, Clint put both hands on her waist, pulling her forward to meet his body as she wrapped her arms around his neck. The kiss was full and loving, their tongues meeting gently in their mouths as it continued, a faint hum of pleasure coming from her throat as he rubbed at her side gently through her t-shirt. She tugged him down a little more and moved the intensity of the kiss up another notch, mostly just because she loved kissing him but also because she still felt a little guilty about the doubts she was having and almost wanted to apologize to him, the best man she'd ever been with. He didn't protest her pulling him closer, one of his arms slipping around her waist to draw her in further, and she stretched up on her tiptoes to meet him as closely as she possibly could. He smelled faintly of clean sweat, woody smoke, gas from his truck, and the pleasant spice of the deodorant he liked to use; a smell she associated with him and only him, one that she found inescapably sexy after all their times together, and she couldn't help a slight stirring in her stomach as it drifted around her.
(Andy, by now incredibly used to this, sat patiently next to them and waited for them to finish.)
But they did have plans, so after a few moments of letting herself get lost in him, she did pull back and settled back flat on her feet, giving him a smile and a last kiss on the chin. “Come on, that's enough of a delay. We can get out of here faster if we get started.”
“Yes, ma'am.” Clint gave her an answering smile and returned her last kiss with one to her forehead, then moved to stand next to her at the sink and pick up the drying cloth to work on what she handed him. Grabbing the dish soap and squeezing some on her sponge, Laura turned back to her original position and picked up a palette, scrunching up her sponge to give her a foam so she could begin scrubbing. “Class go okay? You looked kind of out of it when we came in.”
Fortunately doing the wash made enough movement for her to hide her start of surprise; of course he'd noticed, how could he not notice, he knew she would've heard Andy if she'd been paying even a little attention even if she didn't normally hear him. Of course he'd ask about it. He was so good about checking in with her, making sure everything was okay – of course he'd ask. “No, it was fine. I was just lost in thought.”
“What about? Something dumb?”
There was no way to hide the way his words made her freeze, a pit opening up in the bottom of her stomach. There was no way he could have known how much of a misappellation his off the cuff remark was, but the fact that he even inadvertently called her worries dumb...
“...Babe?”
She blinked as she realized that her mental freeze had turned very real, and she handed over the palette she'd cleaned, not meeting his eyes. “...No, Clint. It's... not dumb at all.”
“Laura, what is it?” The note of worry in his voice was unmistakable, and she loved that he was so concerned about her, and this was not the place to have this discussion, but... something dumb.
“Clint...” He didn't speak again as she trailed off, focusing on the wall in front of her for a moment, before she put the sponge back on the rim of the sink and rinsed her hands in the running water, then shut it off. “...Two nights ago.”
She didn't need to say anything more than that. Self-admitted romantic dunce Clint Barton was very emotionally savvy in all other areas, and she could feel him freeze in turn as she spoke. Finally looking up to meet his gaze, she could see the mask she very rarely saw slip across his features, the one that looked entirely neutral but she knew very well hid a roiling well of emotions from the world. It hurt to see him try to hide it from her, even though she could see through it – and he knew she could. “...Oh.”
“I... I couldn't stop thinking about it,” she admitted quietly after he didn't say anything else. “I know we haven't talked about it, not really, but I could tell...”
“Laura-”
“And you don't have to apologize or anything, I get it, I really do, but...” He didn't say anything as she shook her head a little, then met his eyes again. “Clint... I... I love you so much, but...”
His voice was quiet as he finished what she was finding it hard to vocalize, a shadow over his face. “But you want kids one day.”
“...Yes.”
“And I...”
“...You don't.”
The quiet stretched around them; the art center was empty except for them, and probably Anna in the front office at the other side of the building. The buzzing of the overhead lights was an easy sound to ignore when there was any other noise going on, but with the uncomfortable silence pressing on her skin, Laura felt like it was echoing through her ears and slowly drilling into her brain. Clint moved slightly, putting the dishrag back on its hook, but didn't completely break the connection between their eyes. It was a tension she wasn't at all used to, it was a topic she did not want to discuss in public, but something had decided that here and now was the place they were at least going to begin it.
The clock on the wall ticked off the seconds and time seemed to slow to a crawl as Laura waited for Clint to say something, anything, in response. It felt like half a lifetime before he opened his mouth again, licking his lips and drawing in a deep breath... then exhaling completely and shutting it again. He raised a hand to his face, rubbing it with a sigh, before raking it through his hair and finally speaking. “It's... not that I... haven't thought about it. But every time I do...”
“You see your father.” He didn't say anything to that, but the way he shifted his gaze to the wall told her she was right. “Clint...” She reached for his hand and he didn't help her but he didn't fight her either, letting her take it and lace their fingers together. “I get it, I really do, it-”
“How could you 'get it,'” he said, taking her aback with how bitter his voice was at such a low volume. “You never had to go through it, you never watched as your asshole sperm donor walk up to your mother and hit her in the face, then turn around and see you looking and yell to get over there while taking off his belt-”
“Clint,” she interrupted sharply, frowning. She knew very well how easy it was for Clint to lose himself in his bad memories, hating himself both for doing so and not being able to do better in the past; it was his biggest flaw, and it was so, so ironic, because it was the exact opposite of the man who'd given him life. Harold wouldn't admit any blame for anything he did; Clint clung to his failings and focused on them obsessively when they came up. The only time he turned that bitterness on someone else that she'd seen so far was with his father. She'd learned to cut all of those sorts of things off at the knees when he got going, and she wasn't about to stand there and let him lash at her verbally. “We are not going down this path, got it? There won't be any blame, or accusations, or anything like that. I didn't grow up like that, but I knew people who did, and I remember what it was like for them. We need to have this talk without sniping at each other, because this is about us, not that asshole.” She tightened her grip on his hand, and felt a small flush of relief when he slowly gripped back just a little. “He affected you in all the wrong ways – and he's still doing it. I don't want some jackass I've never met to come between us, and that's what's happening.”
He sighed again, stepping closer and bending his head to her; she tilted hers up and his forehead came to rest on hers, leaving them almost nose to nose as the tension began to slowly drain out of him. “Sorry,” he murmured, his breath drifting across her cheek. “Sorry, I'm- god, he really was an asshole.”
“I know.” Her voice matched his, just above a whisper. “He did... horrible things. If he was still alive, I wouldn't ever want to meet him. I'd black his eye for him. But you... You're not him. I can tell you're nothing like him. And you're scared you wouldn't know what to do, but I can tell you know more than you think you do. And kids already love you, they come running up to you asking you to solve their problems.”
His shoulders shook with a small snort. “You're kidding, they don't love me. They love you, or Andy.”
“Uh-uh, not a bit. Remember when we were at Walmart and that little girl asked you where her mother was?”
“She was just scared, she was alone.”
“Right. What about the bookstore, with the boy who asked you about your favorite books?”
“He was looking for a present for his father.”
“You spent two hours teaching Mary's daughter how to play baseball last year.”
“She wanted to learn and her dad's gone, Mary never learned to play.”
“You showed up before class ended two weeks ago and Brian and Seth were asking you all those questions.”
“'Cause you told them I built houses.”
“And Charlie's kids nearly knocking you over when we went to his cookout.”
“They do that with everyone.”
“Clint.” Laura raised her free hand, placing it on his cheek, stroking her thumb gently under his eye. “It's you. It's all you. Kids look at you and know you're someone they can trust – they never look at you in fear, or apprehension, or anything else. They know you won't do anything to them, and you'll take them seriously. You won't just ignore them or dismiss them because they're young.”
He snorted again. “It's so stupid when people do that. They're kids, they're not idiots. Kids learn. Even I did.”
She couldn't help but smile. “See? You're so much more than you think you are – so many people can see it.” Closing her eyes, she leaned forward, resting her head on his shoulder as her hand slid to the back of his head to hold herself close to him. His own free hand came up to rest on the small of her back, pressing her to him as she felt his breath stirring her hair. “I just wish you could see it, too.”
“I've got you to see it for me.” He paused, hand quivering just above her back, before quietly asking, “I've still got you – right?”
“You still have me.” She felt him exhale in quiet relief against her, but she couldn't let him feel completely safe, not just yet. “But you have to promise me something,” she continued, her fingers starting to run through the hair right at the nape of his neck. She'd long ago found he loved when she did that, finding it a physical comfort all out of proportion to her actual amount of action, and if she got her nails into it or gave the hair there a good yank it would wake up his testosterone and lead to some of the best sex they'd ever had. She didn't go that far this time, wanting to reassure him even though she was giving him a condition. “You have to promise me you're going to try to let him and all that worry about him go. He's gone; the only power he has over you now is what you give his memory, and it's time for that to fade.”
He couldn't help but sigh heavily at her words; she felt his body relaxing into hers, the light scratching on his neck doing its job but not entirely counteracting her request. “That's a... really tall order, Laur. A lot taller than you're probably thinking it is. All this shit's been with me for more than twenty years, it'd be like cutting off my ear or my nose to get rid of it.”
“I know it'll be hard, but just try? For me?” she whispered, pushing closer to him and curling into his flannel shirt as much as she could.
“...Yeah. Yeah... for you.”
“And I think...” This was going to be the tricky part, she knew it, knew how he was likely to react, but she had to try. “I think... maybe you should see someone about it.”
“...See someone?”
“A therapist.”
Clint immediately stood ramrod straight, pulling back from her to stare her in the eye, a look of mingled annoyance and anger on his face. “I don't need a fucking shrink.”
“Clint.” She met his eyes with her own, her gaze firm as she frowned deeply at him, letting her words take on an undertone of steel that showed him she was not going to take any shit. “There is nothing wrong with seeing someone if you need help. Especially after all the crap you've been through.”
“I can get through this fine.”
“But you're not getting through this. You're not even trying to get through this. You're only pushing it away and not dealing with it.”
He remained silent.
“Clint.” Her tone relented just a bit, and she moved both hands to cup his face, making him meet her gaze when he tried to pull away. “You're not weak if you have to get help, not after everything you've been through. It's just an injury in your mind – it's the same as the PT you went through after the bomb blast.”
“Pretty stupid injury.”
“Yeah, well, a lot of them are. Doesn't make it any less of an injury. At least you didn't jump off the roof of the house hollering that you could fly like Mark did.”
A brief hint of amusement passed over his face. “Did he break a leg?”
“Right arm. Couldn't play football at all that fall.” Laura studied his face, the frown still on it, the way his forehead scrunched together above the blade of his nose, the way he tilted his head forward to use his hair to shield his expression. She brushed some of that hair behind his ear, briefly and gently touching the aid the gesture revealed. “You made it through this injury. Now you just need to make it through a different one. And I'll help you as much as I can.”
He didn't fight her movements, even though he normally didn't like having his hearing aids exposed for everyone to see and comment on. But with her, he knew he was safe. She saw them as a part of him, not a weakness to harass him over. She didn't want to lose him... “I'm a shitty patient, you know.”
“I know, I remember taking you to get stitches when you lacerated yourself with the weed whacker. Which you should have read the manual for before you tried to use, but at least-”
“I learned,” he chimed in as she finished her reprimand, the same one she'd delivered to him as she drove him to the closest ER in her hatchback, a dish cloth pressed to his right arm to stop him from bleeding all over her car. He sighed again, his biggest one yet, his whole body heaving with it. “I know. I know. It's just hard to...” He paused, clearly struggling for the words, and then shook his head. “Realize it's not a failure.”
“Hey, come here.” Stretching up on her tiptoes again, Laura gently pressed her lips to his, trying to convey all her confidence in him and love for him to him wordlessly, and after a moment he kissed her in return. Her feet could not stay in that position for long, so she had to lower herself to the floor again, and as she did she felt him strain after her to continue the kiss but she deliberately broke it to look him in the eye again. “The man I love is not a failure, and will not be a failure as long as you keep fighting to move forward. This is just one of the last fights you have. And if you want me, I'll be there helping you fight every step of the way.”
Clint kept his eyes locked on her, the frown easing, but only a little, into a calmer but more solemn expression. “And what if I do this and I don't... change my mind?”
She couldn't help a stab of dismay through her heart at that thought; she really did want to be a mother one day, and as things stood, she wanted Clint to be the father of those children. But she couldn't - wouldn't - force him into something he didn't want to handle. “After you do this... then we can talk again. We'll see how things stand in a year or so, and go from there. I just don't want you to make any decisions based on fear brought on by a man you haven't seen in twenty years, and will never see again.”
“...When you say it that way, it really is stupid to keep him alive like that.” He bent down to brush his lips over hers lightly, then looped his arm around her neck and pulled her to him, his lips pressed to her forehead. She let out a silent sigh and wrapped her arms around his torso, hugging him and taking comfort in being physically surrounded by him. “I'll try. I can't promise anything, but... I'll try.”
“That's all I'm asking.” She gave a small smile. “I'm not Yoda.”
“You're smart like him, but that's it. I never wanted to see Yoda naked. Ow, did you have to punch me in the kidney?”
“You're the one who brought up old wrinkly green Jedi Master sex. You deserve to suffer.”
“What about young, strong, not green, not wrinkly Jedi Master sex? What do you think about that?”
“I think you need some better pickup lines.” She leaned back to smile up at him. “But I'll think about it. After we get this stuff washed up.”
“Yes, Master.” His smile wasn't as wide as it normally was when talking to her, but it was there all the same. And after the talk they'd just had, that was all the victory she was looking for. “Just don't forget. I think you've got a lot of stuff you could... teach me.”
It was her turn to snort as she stepped to the side and pushed him into her previous place at the sink. “Just for that, you get to wash and I'll dry. Drying things will leave you with too much time on your hands, and you know those hands can't wander here.”
“I hear and obey, my Master,” he said with mock solemnity, giving her a bow before turning on the water again and picking up the sponge, ready to begin. “Thank you for the privilege of your training.”
“Hush,” she warned, flicking the dish towel at his leg. He only cocked an eyebrow at her and smirked before picking up one of the plastic cups and starting in on it.
Laura could feel the tension melt away as he began scrubbing. The situation wasn't resolved, of course not, but they'd talked and made reasonable progress on it. He'd agreed to some things that might make their time together even better than it already was. She'd agreed to support him through what would undoubtedly be a difficult journey. But deep in her soul, she felt that this was a journey he needed to take, and one that she had to be beside him as he pushed forward. If he could finally admit that he wasn't a mirror of his father, had no potential to be one, then maybe... just maybe... their futures could be intertwined more than they already were. As much as she wanted them to be.
They were so close. Just a few more steps to go.
Which was... five, four, three, two...
With a small nod to herself, Laura gave a quick, sharp whistle and one clap of her hands to get their attention, and fifteen heads popped up to look at her in surprise. “All right guys, pack it up, it's time to go. If you didn't finish your work today, set them on your shelf and we'll get back to them next week.”
A sudden burst of talk answered her proclamation as kids who'd been wrapped up in the creative spirit were brought back down to earth again, looking from their teacher to the clock as they processed what was going on. It only took a few moments for them to realize it was six, the time for the class to end, and that several parents were standing out in the hallway waiting for them to come out, some of them peering through the door. Chairs screeched against the floor as students shoved back from the tables, one of them pushing so hard he knocked over the cup of rinse water he'd been using for his brushes, and Laura dove forward to catch the falling cup as Jason yelled and snatched his painting away from the spreading water puddle before it could be ruined. Willow and Corey on either side of him also grabbed their work, but grabbed his brushes as well before they could roll off the table and get trampled in the general rush for the storage shelves and the industrial-sized sinks along the south wall. Work in progress went on the third shelf along the west wall, used brushes into the (cleaned) coffee cans set up on the sink ledge, water down the drain and cups in the first sink basin. Laura had her students well-trained at this point, and it helped that every kid wanted to be there: this wasn't an art class at school that everyone had to take for some sort of credit, it was a class at a facility dedicated to the arts, and only the arts, with limited slots and a not-inconsiderable registration fee, and it wasn't the first level of the class either. All of the kids in the class had been through the first two courses and clearly wanted to be in the third, their current class, which meant that she had very few discipline problems with this batch. There were always a few problems in the first level, when parents basically used the class as a babysitting service and some kids didn't just want to be there, but by this point those issues had been weeded out, and she genuinely loved seeing her kids grow physically, mentally, and artistically, even if most of them would never be professionals.
She suppressed a sigh as Jason grabbed the roll of emergency paper towels and came back to help her clean up the spill, apologizing for how clumsy he'd been, and turned a smile on him as she gently rapped him on the forehead with her knuckles. “You didn't mean it and you're helping clean up. That's good enough for me.” The twelve-year-old boy gave her a lopsided grin before going back to soaking up the water on the floor with the paper towels, while she covered the table and went to get the Lysol just to be safe. Once the mess was cleaned up, Laura collared him before he could run out the door to make him wash his hands, and then let him go to meet his mother out in the parking lot. By that point the other kids had cleared out, and she watched out the window as most of them got in their parents' cars and drove off. A pair of sisters was still outside, waiting for their mother to get there after work, but they'd brought chalk with them and spread out on the sidewalk to draw some more while waiting for her. All in all, it was a calming, pleasant scene.
And it brought her back to the thing that had been troubling her for a couple of days, though she was way too much of a professional to let it show in front of her students. After their date two nights before, after the amazing sex high had faded and she'd practically glued herself to Clint's well-muscled frame when he'd climbed back in bed, Laura had ventured that since they'd been together for almost a year, and sexually active for almost that long, that she wanted to talk to her doctor about getting the Depo Provera shot so they could do without condoms. What they had was real, the connection between them unmistakable to everyone around them, and unless something changed drastically it felt like a relationship she wanted to hold on to as long as she could – possibly even forever. She wasn't ready for children yet, but she wanted to feel Clint in her as they made love, feel how perfectly they fit together without any barriers between them. Not to mention all the money they would save on condoms, and they both knew they were clear from any STIs. But when she'd said without condoms, Clint had tensed minutely against her, and the rest of the words faded before she could finish her argument, a strange, uneasy quiet coming over her bedroom, only broken by the faint snoring whuffs of Andy splayed out on his dog bed in the next room.
After almost two solid minutes of silence, he'd finally responded. ...I don't think I'm ready for that. She'd had to take a moment herself to get up the nerve to ask, Do you think you ever will be?
His silence had told her more than she really wanted to know.
They'd talked briefly the next day, but Clint had a delivery to make to eastern Ohio for his boss after a half-shift on site, and so there wasn't time to really discuss the sudden, giant knot in her gut. That evening she'd sat on her couch with a bottle of wine and a sketch pad she was idly doodling on, vaguely disgusted with herself for becoming a stereotype but knowing there was a lot she needed to think about and hoping that the alcohol would let her true thoughts float more freely to the top of her scattered mind. She'd ended up with a mess of wants and needs she couldn't sort out and a low pressure at the back of her skull that signaled an oncoming headache, and so she'd gone to bed without any sort of answer for her dilemma.
Laura sighed and reached behind her head to pull her hair back with the elastic she kept around her wrist, moving to the sink to finish the clean up. With her adult classes everyone had to take care of their own equipment and perform their own washing up, but until the higher levels of the childrens' classes it was just easier to have them sort out their tools and have her do the actual cleaning. Since it was a watercolor class and it was just the brushes, cups, and plastic palettes, she didn't mind, and today it gave her something to occupy herself with physically while she continued her train of thought about her future with Clint – or if they could really have one. Because Laura knew she wanted children, and every signal Clint had ever given her told her that he didn't, and even if everything else was perfect in a relationship (which they came really damn close to), that was a huge thing to disagree on.
Not that she could really blame him. He'd had positive adult role models, and positive examples of families, but his own family had been, in his own words, “fucking terrible.” His mother had sounded like an overall nice woman, but his father... Laura sighed again, squeezing her eyes shut and letting the water run over her hands as she carefully cleaned brushes, shaking her head a little. Her own father had had “episodes” too many times in her life for her to not know how a person could switch back and forth between settings at the drop of a hat, but she had never been afraid of her father in his moments of dissociation. Afraid of what might happen, afraid of not getting him back, but never afraid of him, of his strong hands and sharp eyes, his quick mind and his caring smile that could go hollow and lost when the memories overtook him. But according to Clint, he'd never seen Harold Barton without being at least a little afraid of what might happen, what words might come out of his mouth or what his fists might do, and even if that was the exaggeration of childhood memories evolving over time it had certainly happened. She'd seen the faded, nearly-invisible scars on his skin from bones being broken, cuts and falls and all the things that could occur to any active child, but the matter-of-fact tone that Clint used when talking about how he'd acquired most of those during his father's alcohol-fueled rages convinced her that he wasn't making any of it up. Maybe it wasn't Christian to be glad that a person was dead, but an undeniable portion of her was thankful that he was removed from her boyfriend's life before he could ruin him. There were people who were a benefit to the world, and there were people who weren't, and Harold absolutely fit into that second camp.
So the fact that Clint was undeniably nervous – even terrified – of having children wasn't a surprise to her, even though he'd never actually said it. He didn't have to. She'd had to cancel a date a few months before when Marcia had needed a last minute babysitter, and when she'd asked him to come over anyway and they could at least watch a movie, he'd declined suspiciously fast. Whenever she mentioned the part of her childhood dreams for the future that involved having children, he'd always changed the subject. His response to telling him she was going to be an aunt a few months ago had been a lackluster that's great. Two nights before was the closest they'd ever come to actually talking about it, but this wasn't a conversation they needed to have in explicit wording for her to know the outcome. And it was so sad, because he was great with kids, and she suspected he didn't realize just how great he was, but it wasn't something he would ever acknowledge. He'd spent his life proving he wasn't like his father, in any way, but this was the one thing he couldn't let go of and see how much that statement was true. He was too terrified of subjecting another child to what he'd been through to consider the possibility for more than a moment. And she couldn't force him to face those fears directly by putting him in a situation where he'd have to suck it up and do it, and in fact felt a little sick at the idea of trapping him in that way.
“Damnit...” she whispered as her stomach cramped a little and she felt moisture at the corner of her eye. The brushes were clean now, each one deposited in another coffee can to drip dry when she finished with them – and it was a mark of how big a part of her life Clint was now that she didn't even remember that they'd been his coffee cans, ones she'd stolen (with his permission) when she realized how useful they could be for her classes. It was just that way for them now, an easy give and take, the assumption that everything would be taken care of together, even if they still didn't share one roof. And maybe the whole kid thing was the reason for that, too... Laura let the clean water run over her hands, rinsing the paint away, and reached up to scrub her face to get rid of the tears threatening to fall and bring herself back down to earth. She shouldn't borrow trouble, this was a conversation she needed to have with Clint, not circle around in her own hea-
“Surprise,” a low voice murmured next to her ear as hands slid around her middle, making her shriek and jump as the voice laughed. She spun around and automatically brought up a fist to hit her boyfriend smack in the shoulder, pouting a bit at how it barely rocked him and glaring at him. “Clint! Don't do that, I nearly had kittens! What are you doing here, anyway?”
Still grinning (and laughing just a little), Clint obediently stepped back to give her a little space, glancing down to the floor. At that point she noticed that Andy was there too, sniffing her hand and wagging his tail, and she reached forward to scratch him around the ears even as she wondered how lost in thought had she been. Clint had the almost supernatural ability to walk as quietly as a ninja and by now she was used to that, but she should have been able to hear Andy's nails on the polished cement floor as they came in. “We just got back – traffic's a real bitch today, and I didn't want to fight it to get back to the apartment yet. And since your class is over, I thought maybe you'd wanna get some takeout and we could crash on the couch?”
“Sure.” Laura had to smile; no matter how depressing the thoughts she'd been focusing on had been, Clint had still come to visit her at work before he'd gone back to his place after a trip, even just an overnight one. He wanted to see her, wanted to spend the evening together, and didn't take it for granted that she'd be available to do that when they hadn't already made plans. She loved him so much... “I'm almost done, I just have to finish washing up. Shouldn't take me more than ten minutes.”
“I'll help, then we can get out of here faster. After this.” Moving forward again, Clint put both hands on her waist, pulling her forward to meet his body as she wrapped her arms around his neck. The kiss was full and loving, their tongues meeting gently in their mouths as it continued, a faint hum of pleasure coming from her throat as he rubbed at her side gently through her t-shirt. She tugged him down a little more and moved the intensity of the kiss up another notch, mostly just because she loved kissing him but also because she still felt a little guilty about the doubts she was having and almost wanted to apologize to him, the best man she'd ever been with. He didn't protest her pulling him closer, one of his arms slipping around her waist to draw her in further, and she stretched up on her tiptoes to meet him as closely as she possibly could. He smelled faintly of clean sweat, woody smoke, gas from his truck, and the pleasant spice of the deodorant he liked to use; a smell she associated with him and only him, one that she found inescapably sexy after all their times together, and she couldn't help a slight stirring in her stomach as it drifted around her.
(Andy, by now incredibly used to this, sat patiently next to them and waited for them to finish.)
But they did have plans, so after a few moments of letting herself get lost in him, she did pull back and settled back flat on her feet, giving him a smile and a last kiss on the chin. “Come on, that's enough of a delay. We can get out of here faster if we get started.”
“Yes, ma'am.” Clint gave her an answering smile and returned her last kiss with one to her forehead, then moved to stand next to her at the sink and pick up the drying cloth to work on what she handed him. Grabbing the dish soap and squeezing some on her sponge, Laura turned back to her original position and picked up a palette, scrunching up her sponge to give her a foam so she could begin scrubbing. “Class go okay? You looked kind of out of it when we came in.”
Fortunately doing the wash made enough movement for her to hide her start of surprise; of course he'd noticed, how could he not notice, he knew she would've heard Andy if she'd been paying even a little attention even if she didn't normally hear him. Of course he'd ask about it. He was so good about checking in with her, making sure everything was okay – of course he'd ask. “No, it was fine. I was just lost in thought.”
“What about? Something dumb?”
There was no way to hide the way his words made her freeze, a pit opening up in the bottom of her stomach. There was no way he could have known how much of a misappellation his off the cuff remark was, but the fact that he even inadvertently called her worries dumb...
“...Babe?”
She blinked as she realized that her mental freeze had turned very real, and she handed over the palette she'd cleaned, not meeting his eyes. “...No, Clint. It's... not dumb at all.”
“Laura, what is it?” The note of worry in his voice was unmistakable, and she loved that he was so concerned about her, and this was not the place to have this discussion, but... something dumb.
“Clint...” He didn't speak again as she trailed off, focusing on the wall in front of her for a moment, before she put the sponge back on the rim of the sink and rinsed her hands in the running water, then shut it off. “...Two nights ago.”
She didn't need to say anything more than that. Self-admitted romantic dunce Clint Barton was very emotionally savvy in all other areas, and she could feel him freeze in turn as she spoke. Finally looking up to meet his gaze, she could see the mask she very rarely saw slip across his features, the one that looked entirely neutral but she knew very well hid a roiling well of emotions from the world. It hurt to see him try to hide it from her, even though she could see through it – and he knew she could. “...Oh.”
“I... I couldn't stop thinking about it,” she admitted quietly after he didn't say anything else. “I know we haven't talked about it, not really, but I could tell...”
“Laura-”
“And you don't have to apologize or anything, I get it, I really do, but...” He didn't say anything as she shook her head a little, then met his eyes again. “Clint... I... I love you so much, but...”
His voice was quiet as he finished what she was finding it hard to vocalize, a shadow over his face. “But you want kids one day.”
“...Yes.”
“And I...”
“...You don't.”
The quiet stretched around them; the art center was empty except for them, and probably Anna in the front office at the other side of the building. The buzzing of the overhead lights was an easy sound to ignore when there was any other noise going on, but with the uncomfortable silence pressing on her skin, Laura felt like it was echoing through her ears and slowly drilling into her brain. Clint moved slightly, putting the dishrag back on its hook, but didn't completely break the connection between their eyes. It was a tension she wasn't at all used to, it was a topic she did not want to discuss in public, but something had decided that here and now was the place they were at least going to begin it.
The clock on the wall ticked off the seconds and time seemed to slow to a crawl as Laura waited for Clint to say something, anything, in response. It felt like half a lifetime before he opened his mouth again, licking his lips and drawing in a deep breath... then exhaling completely and shutting it again. He raised a hand to his face, rubbing it with a sigh, before raking it through his hair and finally speaking. “It's... not that I... haven't thought about it. But every time I do...”
“You see your father.” He didn't say anything to that, but the way he shifted his gaze to the wall told her she was right. “Clint...” She reached for his hand and he didn't help her but he didn't fight her either, letting her take it and lace their fingers together. “I get it, I really do, it-”
“How could you 'get it,'” he said, taking her aback with how bitter his voice was at such a low volume. “You never had to go through it, you never watched as your asshole sperm donor walk up to your mother and hit her in the face, then turn around and see you looking and yell to get over there while taking off his belt-”
“Clint,” she interrupted sharply, frowning. She knew very well how easy it was for Clint to lose himself in his bad memories, hating himself both for doing so and not being able to do better in the past; it was his biggest flaw, and it was so, so ironic, because it was the exact opposite of the man who'd given him life. Harold wouldn't admit any blame for anything he did; Clint clung to his failings and focused on them obsessively when they came up. The only time he turned that bitterness on someone else that she'd seen so far was with his father. She'd learned to cut all of those sorts of things off at the knees when he got going, and she wasn't about to stand there and let him lash at her verbally. “We are not going down this path, got it? There won't be any blame, or accusations, or anything like that. I didn't grow up like that, but I knew people who did, and I remember what it was like for them. We need to have this talk without sniping at each other, because this is about us, not that asshole.” She tightened her grip on his hand, and felt a small flush of relief when he slowly gripped back just a little. “He affected you in all the wrong ways – and he's still doing it. I don't want some jackass I've never met to come between us, and that's what's happening.”
He sighed again, stepping closer and bending his head to her; she tilted hers up and his forehead came to rest on hers, leaving them almost nose to nose as the tension began to slowly drain out of him. “Sorry,” he murmured, his breath drifting across her cheek. “Sorry, I'm- god, he really was an asshole.”
“I know.” Her voice matched his, just above a whisper. “He did... horrible things. If he was still alive, I wouldn't ever want to meet him. I'd black his eye for him. But you... You're not him. I can tell you're nothing like him. And you're scared you wouldn't know what to do, but I can tell you know more than you think you do. And kids already love you, they come running up to you asking you to solve their problems.”
His shoulders shook with a small snort. “You're kidding, they don't love me. They love you, or Andy.”
“Uh-uh, not a bit. Remember when we were at Walmart and that little girl asked you where her mother was?”
“She was just scared, she was alone.”
“Right. What about the bookstore, with the boy who asked you about your favorite books?”
“He was looking for a present for his father.”
“You spent two hours teaching Mary's daughter how to play baseball last year.”
“She wanted to learn and her dad's gone, Mary never learned to play.”
“You showed up before class ended two weeks ago and Brian and Seth were asking you all those questions.”
“'Cause you told them I built houses.”
“And Charlie's kids nearly knocking you over when we went to his cookout.”
“They do that with everyone.”
“Clint.” Laura raised her free hand, placing it on his cheek, stroking her thumb gently under his eye. “It's you. It's all you. Kids look at you and know you're someone they can trust – they never look at you in fear, or apprehension, or anything else. They know you won't do anything to them, and you'll take them seriously. You won't just ignore them or dismiss them because they're young.”
He snorted again. “It's so stupid when people do that. They're kids, they're not idiots. Kids learn. Even I did.”
She couldn't help but smile. “See? You're so much more than you think you are – so many people can see it.” Closing her eyes, she leaned forward, resting her head on his shoulder as her hand slid to the back of his head to hold herself close to him. His own free hand came up to rest on the small of her back, pressing her to him as she felt his breath stirring her hair. “I just wish you could see it, too.”
“I've got you to see it for me.” He paused, hand quivering just above her back, before quietly asking, “I've still got you – right?”
“You still have me.” She felt him exhale in quiet relief against her, but she couldn't let him feel completely safe, not just yet. “But you have to promise me something,” she continued, her fingers starting to run through the hair right at the nape of his neck. She'd long ago found he loved when she did that, finding it a physical comfort all out of proportion to her actual amount of action, and if she got her nails into it or gave the hair there a good yank it would wake up his testosterone and lead to some of the best sex they'd ever had. She didn't go that far this time, wanting to reassure him even though she was giving him a condition. “You have to promise me you're going to try to let him and all that worry about him go. He's gone; the only power he has over you now is what you give his memory, and it's time for that to fade.”
He couldn't help but sigh heavily at her words; she felt his body relaxing into hers, the light scratching on his neck doing its job but not entirely counteracting her request. “That's a... really tall order, Laur. A lot taller than you're probably thinking it is. All this shit's been with me for more than twenty years, it'd be like cutting off my ear or my nose to get rid of it.”
“I know it'll be hard, but just try? For me?” she whispered, pushing closer to him and curling into his flannel shirt as much as she could.
“...Yeah. Yeah... for you.”
“And I think...” This was going to be the tricky part, she knew it, knew how he was likely to react, but she had to try. “I think... maybe you should see someone about it.”
“...See someone?”
“A therapist.”
Clint immediately stood ramrod straight, pulling back from her to stare her in the eye, a look of mingled annoyance and anger on his face. “I don't need a fucking shrink.”
“Clint.” She met his eyes with her own, her gaze firm as she frowned deeply at him, letting her words take on an undertone of steel that showed him she was not going to take any shit. “There is nothing wrong with seeing someone if you need help. Especially after all the crap you've been through.”
“I can get through this fine.”
“But you're not getting through this. You're not even trying to get through this. You're only pushing it away and not dealing with it.”
He remained silent.
“Clint.” Her tone relented just a bit, and she moved both hands to cup his face, making him meet her gaze when he tried to pull away. “You're not weak if you have to get help, not after everything you've been through. It's just an injury in your mind – it's the same as the PT you went through after the bomb blast.”
“Pretty stupid injury.”
“Yeah, well, a lot of them are. Doesn't make it any less of an injury. At least you didn't jump off the roof of the house hollering that you could fly like Mark did.”
A brief hint of amusement passed over his face. “Did he break a leg?”
“Right arm. Couldn't play football at all that fall.” Laura studied his face, the frown still on it, the way his forehead scrunched together above the blade of his nose, the way he tilted his head forward to use his hair to shield his expression. She brushed some of that hair behind his ear, briefly and gently touching the aid the gesture revealed. “You made it through this injury. Now you just need to make it through a different one. And I'll help you as much as I can.”
He didn't fight her movements, even though he normally didn't like having his hearing aids exposed for everyone to see and comment on. But with her, he knew he was safe. She saw them as a part of him, not a weakness to harass him over. She didn't want to lose him... “I'm a shitty patient, you know.”
“I know, I remember taking you to get stitches when you lacerated yourself with the weed whacker. Which you should have read the manual for before you tried to use, but at least-”
“I learned,” he chimed in as she finished her reprimand, the same one she'd delivered to him as she drove him to the closest ER in her hatchback, a dish cloth pressed to his right arm to stop him from bleeding all over her car. He sighed again, his biggest one yet, his whole body heaving with it. “I know. I know. It's just hard to...” He paused, clearly struggling for the words, and then shook his head. “Realize it's not a failure.”
“Hey, come here.” Stretching up on her tiptoes again, Laura gently pressed her lips to his, trying to convey all her confidence in him and love for him to him wordlessly, and after a moment he kissed her in return. Her feet could not stay in that position for long, so she had to lower herself to the floor again, and as she did she felt him strain after her to continue the kiss but she deliberately broke it to look him in the eye again. “The man I love is not a failure, and will not be a failure as long as you keep fighting to move forward. This is just one of the last fights you have. And if you want me, I'll be there helping you fight every step of the way.”
Clint kept his eyes locked on her, the frown easing, but only a little, into a calmer but more solemn expression. “And what if I do this and I don't... change my mind?”
She couldn't help a stab of dismay through her heart at that thought; she really did want to be a mother one day, and as things stood, she wanted Clint to be the father of those children. But she couldn't - wouldn't - force him into something he didn't want to handle. “After you do this... then we can talk again. We'll see how things stand in a year or so, and go from there. I just don't want you to make any decisions based on fear brought on by a man you haven't seen in twenty years, and will never see again.”
“...When you say it that way, it really is stupid to keep him alive like that.” He bent down to brush his lips over hers lightly, then looped his arm around her neck and pulled her to him, his lips pressed to her forehead. She let out a silent sigh and wrapped her arms around his torso, hugging him and taking comfort in being physically surrounded by him. “I'll try. I can't promise anything, but... I'll try.”
“That's all I'm asking.” She gave a small smile. “I'm not Yoda.”
“You're smart like him, but that's it. I never wanted to see Yoda naked. Ow, did you have to punch me in the kidney?”
“You're the one who brought up old wrinkly green Jedi Master sex. You deserve to suffer.”
“What about young, strong, not green, not wrinkly Jedi Master sex? What do you think about that?”
“I think you need some better pickup lines.” She leaned back to smile up at him. “But I'll think about it. After we get this stuff washed up.”
“Yes, Master.” His smile wasn't as wide as it normally was when talking to her, but it was there all the same. And after the talk they'd just had, that was all the victory she was looking for. “Just don't forget. I think you've got a lot of stuff you could... teach me.”
It was her turn to snort as she stepped to the side and pushed him into her previous place at the sink. “Just for that, you get to wash and I'll dry. Drying things will leave you with too much time on your hands, and you know those hands can't wander here.”
“I hear and obey, my Master,” he said with mock solemnity, giving her a bow before turning on the water again and picking up the sponge, ready to begin. “Thank you for the privilege of your training.”
“Hush,” she warned, flicking the dish towel at his leg. He only cocked an eyebrow at her and smirked before picking up one of the plastic cups and starting in on it.
Laura could feel the tension melt away as he began scrubbing. The situation wasn't resolved, of course not, but they'd talked and made reasonable progress on it. He'd agreed to some things that might make their time together even better than it already was. She'd agreed to support him through what would undoubtedly be a difficult journey. But deep in her soul, she felt that this was a journey he needed to take, and one that she had to be beside him as he pushed forward. If he could finally admit that he wasn't a mirror of his father, had no potential to be one, then maybe... just maybe... their futures could be intertwined more than they already were. As much as she wanted them to be.
They were so close. Just a few more steps to go.
