sixthiterationlogs | All We Need Is Just a Little Patience

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All We Need Is Just a Little Patience

WHO: Clint Barton
WHERE: House 13, House 3
WHEN: August 19, August 20
OPEN TO: Peggy Carter, then Claire Temple
WARNINGS: Talk of war? Talking about medical grossness? Mentions of Thanos'ing? Not entirely sure what's going to come up but likely something.

( For Peggy, August 19 )

There's been things circulating around in his brain lately, things that Clint's tried to put to the side in order to just keep keeping on and not fall prey to depression like he had for half of July, but there's just no way he can ignore something that's such a big part of him as his family. It's been a year and a half since he's seen them, and with the revelations that came with people from his home coming into the village from a later point than he had, he had a whole host of new potential worries to obsess over. Doing so wouldn't get him home, he knew that, but he also couldn't help it. They're his wife and children, and what happened to them in the wake of that disaster...?

Normally he'd talk to Nat about this, but sometimes talking to Nat is a little too much like talking to himself. They're on such a similar wavelength, a lot of times not even having to say anything to know what the other is thinking, that on occasion he needs another opinion. Normally that would be Laura, but... And Nat also arrived just recently. He wants to talk to someone who's been here awhile, who has been through more of her share of hard knocks. Which is why one morning, Clint shows up at the door to Peggy's house, wearing the leather jacket he'd scrounged the year before and concealing something under it. Knocking, he stands back and waits for an answer.

( For Claire, August 20 )

Bev had done her best to put Claire back together after the lightning strike, and she'd done a pretty damn good job, but in a place without a lot of sophisticated medical equipment there were obviously going to be a lot of question marks and things that just couldn't be repaired. Claire had stayed with them for a few days so she could be watched over just in case things took a turn for the worse, but only a few - being released from monitoring had let her go back to the house she lived in, and she and Bev crossed paths at the village hospital enough to let Bev keep an eye on her since then.

But Clint hasn't really seen her since then, between projects and hunting, and considering what happened to her he wants to know how she is. He knows Bev would have told him if anything important came up - as long as Claire was all right with him knowing - but he's still feeling the need to check on her in person. The day after talking to Peg finds him walking up to Claire's place, some of the extra meat from his latest hunting trip in a small pouch to hand over to her - maybe in a bribe for some of that coffee he heard about her having.

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Peggy's been in the midst of working with some of the tea leaves, doing her best to get everything drying on the counter when she hears the knock. Glancing over her shoulder when she hears the knock, she leans out to see if Stella's here, and when she's not, she wonders if she's simply lost her key. It's not really like her to do that, though, so perhaps it's a visitor?

It's not that she's awful, but at the same time, Peggy's not exactly rife with them. Cleaning off her hands, she heads to the door and opens it, finding Clint standing there with something. "Should I be worried about what's under your jacket?" she asks warily, wondering if this is a social visit or a 'help, I've found something disastrous' one.

Her reaction actually makes him laugh, though it's a shorter laugh than she's heard him give before, pulled out of him in surprise and not out of a real sense of humor. Though it is funny that she'd think that what he's carrying is at all dangerous, considering it's only made of cotton and canvas. "No, nothing's gonna happen. Or, not from this, at least - can't say anything for any big animals out there. Can I come in?"

She seems a little harried, maybe. Clearly she hadn't been expecting visitors, but it's not like Clint could pick up the phone and call her to warn her of his intentions to visit her. Though there is the watch that he keeps forgetting about... "Sorry, if you're busy, I can come back later. Do you want me to?"

"Of course, I was just putting the leaves out to dry, so I can assure you that I'm far from busy," she deadpans, given that she's hardly rushing to get anything done at this particular moment. While she appreciates seeing Clint, though, there is a touch of wariness about why he's here.

"And pray tell, what's the reason for this surprise visit? Not that I mind you here," she assures, "but usually I run into you out in the village, not you coming here for a house call."

Clint's posture and physical manner might alleviate some of her worry; he's not tense, not wary, not casting an eye around to make sure they're not being watched. He's definitely not acting like he believes they're about to be under attack. If anything, he's a little slower in his movements than he normally is, a little less precise, not exactly slumping but also not standing completely straight. Clint's perfected the art of changing his physicality to make people see what he wants them to see, the ability to adjust his stance, his movements, and his posture to blend in with an environment or stand out from it, but in the village he rarely makes use of that talent. That kind of training is something that Peggy's all too familiar with as well, so to see him not have a certain level of energy should be a pretty big red flag.

"I didn't wanna do this in public. This place doesn't leave us the chance for a lot of privacy sometimes - I'll take what I can get when I can get it." It's an oblique clue, but it's still a clue as he steps through the door, still keeping his jacket closed over the thing. "I've been thinking a lot lately... I guess I just need someone to think with me, if that's okay."

She wishes that she had a good bottle of liquor with her, because when it comes to thinking, it's always best done when you have something to think with. As it stands, she supposes that it will simply have to do to have her company. Peggy wanders through the rooms of the house to verify that Stella's not here, that they're truly alone, before she gestures to the couch.

Something is going on, she can tell that much from his behaviour, but what it is? She has no idea. "Sit," she encourages. "I'd offer you something to eat, but that's probably not going to help very much. Relax, and when you're ready to think, we'll think."

If he didn't want her company, he wouldn't have come to her. Peggy's smart, smarter than he is for sure, and right now he can really use another perspective. Or possibly even just some reinforcement. He's not entirely sure himself, really.

Clint doesn't ask while Peggy does her little patrol around the house, just waiting for her to come back, and when she does he takes the seat she offers. There's nothing said for a minute - he's kind of looking off into the middle distance, not really focusing on anything but clearly turning something over in his head - before he sighs heavily and pulls the thing he'd been concealing out from under his jacket, setting it on the coffee table in front of the couch.

It's a toy, a stuffed wolf toy that's much more in line with something that would be in a baby's nursery than would be found in nature. Floppy and patchy, with oversized bulbous limbs, floppy ears, and a hide that's well-loved and has probably been repaired more than once. Once it's out, Clint folds his arms over his knees, and waits.

Peggy returns and settles on the chair opposite Clint, looking at the item in question. She's been around long enough to know that there are gifts that arrive in boxes, but judging by the look on Clint's face and the way he's acting, she's not entirely sure that a) this is a gift he wants and b) that it's as random as some of the others.

"Who does that belong to?" She's very cautious here to keep her tone even, but also to use the present tense. She doesn't know enough about this situation yet and wants to remain cautious so that she doesn't make it worse before it even starts.

The box gifts are terrible but also useful. Useful because... well, that's obvious, but terrible because they're representations of the fact that they can't leave this place and constant evidence that there's always something watching them. This gift especially is one that proves to him just how much they're all being watched.

"My daughter. Lila. It's her favorite toy - she won't go to bed without it, not without a tantrum. Nat got it for her when she was born." The words are without a lot of strong emotion, but Clint's still watching the stuffed animal, a lingering sadness deep in his eyes. He's been here a long time - not as long as Peggy, but close. He hasn't seen his family in over a year and a half. He's honestly not sure how he's doing right now, with all this.

Peggy's not sure that they really ever talk about this. They should, she knows, but they don't and it leaves her feeling empathetic and tender for Clint's sake, if not her own. After all, children is a topic that's for her future, but something that she doesn't want to rule out.

Only, the longer she's here, the more she thinks it's not going to happen. "How many children do you have, in total?" she asks, because it's about time they did talk about this, even if she feels the guilt of going so long without.

For his part, Clint hasn't been wanting to talk about his family much. Long years of habit of him not wanting to expose them to any potential danger have left a mark, and it means he only mentions them to people he's personally vetted for the information. Peggy had found out accidentally, when he'd been delirious with fever; he never regretted her knowing, it was Peggy after all, but those habits were hard to break. He'd told Ned and Baze in a depressed, wanting-to-be-drunk state, but both of them had disappeared months before, otherwise he might have gone to one of them. Probably Ned, considering how many kids he had.

But still, he doesn't regret Peggy knowing. She knows the life of an agent, even if she's not a parent herself, and she knows how difficult it it to balance something resembling a normal life with their chosen profession, how they can't talk about things at work with many people, have to hide what they do a lot. She can imagine what it's like to have secrets in both directions, and her heart is big enough to not condemn him for trying to have it all. Maybe he should've talked to her about this before now, but too late.

"Three. Cooper, Lila, and Nathaniel - he was going to be little Natasha until the last ultrasound." Clint pauses, still looking at the toy, before beginning again. "How did they get this?"

Peggy's smile at wanting to name the boy after Natasha is a wonderful thing, imagining a world where she has children and gets to name them after her friends, but the trouble is, Peggy's not sure she has the maternal requirements to be a parent. As it stands, she'd much rather listen to Clint talking of his own experiences.

She studies the toy, not wanting to hold onto it for very long, but the trouble is, she has no idea. "I've never received anything personal here," she admits, because if she had, she'd know and she imagines she'd be just as unnerved. She knows the possibilities. Does this mean they have Clint's family? Are they here as well?

"Did it come alone? No letter with it?"

Clit shakes his head at her question, finally settling back into a proper seat on the couch, arms draped across his knees in a much less apprehensive position. Whatever's going on here is beyond even his ability to put together a comprehensive picture from so little information, and the arrival of Lila's toy just made everything more confusing instead of less.

"It was just on my bed when I came home one day at the beginning of July." He doesn't even catch the slip - "home" instead of "to the house" or "back" or any other reference. A small sign that at least part of him is starting to lose hope that he'll ever get to his real home again. "I just collapsed on the floor. Nat found me about an hour after that - she was hit almost as bad as I was."

Peggy's still not convinced that it's not some form of emotional torture or a ransom, but that's likely not what Clint wants to hear right now. She can be tactful and so she bites her tongue to prevent herself from going on and saying something stupid out loud.

"I can't even begin to imagine," she confesses quietly. "They're your family, your children." She's not even sure what on earth could make this better, as it's a grief she's never borne before. "Was there nothing else with it? Nothing from the other children?"

He doesn't want to hear that, no, but it's definitely going through his mind. He's already been through the emotional torture, and even if that hadn't been an intentional reaction to the "gift" it'd been a hell of a lot of Not Fun. A ransom... that's crossed his mind, too, but there hasn't been any sort of note or any kind of instructions to get Lila back. If someone wanted him to come after her, wouldn't they have to give him some sort of clue to begin?

"No, just this. I don't even know what they'd have for Nate..." Well, that's not exactly true, Nate certainly has his favorite toys and even clothing, even at a year old. Any of those would suffice. But there's nothing insanely personal like Lila's wolf, or Cooper's telescope, or Laura's sketchpad. And he looks up, looking overall pulled together, but for the observant person there's a little of a lost look in his eye. "What'm I gonna do, Peg?"

He's still so used to the idea that Peggy will have all the answers. Even though he knows she would reject that idea, saying even as Director she was only human and made mistakes, but her legacy looms large in the mind of every true S.H.I.E.L.D. employee and the couple of times he'd met her she'd seemed so confident and in control. She probably has no idea what to do. That doesn't mean he won't ask.

Peggy's eyes are wide when he asks her for what she thinks he ought to do. She's lost, a little, because the advice is a bit strange and she's not entirely sure what he's supposed to do. What she is sure about is that she's happy that it's not seemingly apparent that the family is being held hostage, which is a relief.

That said, what can they do?

"You can write messages to them, I suppose," she offers, though it's not very actionable. "You can continue to search for a way out or a glitch in the system that allows you to them. You can believe what some people do, that there's a version of you back there still caring for them." What would she do? "Do you trust the people you know at home and your family to watch out for them?"

Everything was still so surreal when Claire thought about all of it. Things happened, sure, but when one went through as much as she had in the last several months there was bound to be a bit of exasperated disbelief. Still, there were times when she had to remind herself that it was best not to think about it and she did pretty well despite how different all those circumstances could have gone.

Things didn't really stop there either, though they were far from the chaos of getting horrendously ill for three days, getting struck by lightning or having to worry about the people around her getting attacked by strange nightmare looking creatures. The party had been nice, if not odd like so many of the other feasts usually were. It was hard not to ask questions and to speculate further about their circumstances.

Claire is sitting on the porch enjoying the shade and cool air with a book and an empty mug beside her when she notices Clint heading towards the house. It's been a while since she's seen him - but then, that always seems to be how they do things. So, as soon as he gets close enough Claire gives him a friendly smile as she closes the book.

"You know, I was actually thinking about you this morning and here you are."

That does seem to be how they do things. Clint's learned to not really make a lot of plans in the village, or at least not really concrete ones. There's so much to do in the matter of day-to-day living, hunting and prepping buildings for the coming winter, that one of the few random things in this place is who you run into, and frankly everybody needs some casual randomness like that. Sometimes he does make plans to meet someone for a meal or go out and do... whatever, but mostly it's nice to have one thing that doesn't need to be controlled.

Still, he's thinking he needs to seek out Claire more. Not only because she seems to keep getting herself into trouble, but because she's a calming, steadying influence on everyone around her (mostly). He's got Nat and Nat's great, he loves her with all his heart, but that sense of calm and comfort is also something that's not in great supply around the village. It feels like home, in a way, and not in the bad way that admitting they're stuck here would.

Clint smiles with one side of his mouth at her greeting, continuing to walk towards her and shrugging a little as he does so. "I guess that's a sign - maybe you called me to you. I've heard stranger." And had been through stranger, but he's not getting into that just yet.

"Well, I'd be lying if I didn't say that would be a pretty interesting superpower to have," Claire says. "Or maybe it was seeing how much of this coffee I still have and wondering when you'd be by to have some."

There was still quite a lot of the stash she received a few weeks back and for a while, up until that day, she'd even largely forgotten about it until that morning it was decided on taking it easy for once.

"Speaking of, I'm making some more. Want some?" Claire asks, setting the book down on the chair once she had gotten up.

"You may not wanna ask that. You're not gonna have any coffee left if you let me have some."

Clint's well aware of his vices; few they might be in comparison to some other people, but when he has one, he goes all in. The only reason he's not completely addicted to coffee is because Fury wouldn't let him be; a sniper can't be having withdrawal jitters when he's in his perch, after all. But it's a fine line he's skated his entire adult life, and it's only fair that Claire be warned of it if she's making the offer. It's only half a joke.

Climbing the rest of the way onto her porch, Clint nods as he moves, ready to sit down at least until she gets up. "If you're offering, I'll never say no."

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All We Need Is Just a Little Patience

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