Avengers 1. In the Beginning

They'd won.

The Avengers had saved New York from an alien invasion.

Critics were raving, newscasters broadcasting story after story, and 'The Daily Bugle' had actually stopped picking on New York's friendly neighborhood Spiderman for a day.

Just one day though. A day Peter Parker had sadly missed, seeing as he'd been on vacation with his friends.

His loss.

But let's not get away from ourselves; because this story isn't about Peter Parker, or the Avengers.

It's about one very much screwed SHIELD agent by the name of Clint Francis Barton.

i-~~~~~~~~~~~~~******~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-i

Quite a bit before all this Chitauri business had gone down, Agent Clint Barton had liked his life very much.

Training recruits, taking exciting missions, and of course…

There was his girlfriend Agent Barbara Morse, aka 'Mockingbird.'

Gorgeous long blonde hair that shone brighter than the sun, eyes like the deepest sapphire, and a proficiency in staff and martial arts training that would make almost any aspiring ninja burst into tears. She and Clint had been dating for almost two years, and well, it's only logical that he'd bought a ring to officially bring them together forever in the public eye.

It was nothing dazzling, but Barbara wasn't one of those silly valley girls that had it in their heads that a man only loved you as much as the price of the wedding band was.

The ring he'd gotten was white gold, fashioned in winding feathers, with an opal set in an array of topaz. Not your average engagement ring, but Clint had figured that he could save the whole diamond shebang for the other ring.

After all, SHEILD paychecks weren't exactly as big as most people thought they were.

He'd taken her out to dinner several times, fingering the velvet box in his pocket, but never really deemed it the right time to ask.

In hindsight, he probably should have proposed the night she'd told him that she was pregnant the first time.

Then again, screw hindsight.

Clint wasn't the father kind of guy, and would have been lying if he'd said that the night Barbara had told him she was expecting his child, his expression had been a little less than excited.

More like it had been one of utter terror.

Barbara knew his fear though, and took his calloused hand in hers.

"It's okay Clint. I know. I'm just as freaked out and worried as you are. But hey, if you don't want it, we can put it up for adoption or somethin'. I wouldn't want us to raise a kid while workin' for SHEILD."

Clint felt a little more than guilty; he knew how much Bobbi loved kids.

"Yeah… Well. We can wait and see right? I mean we'd have to tell Director Fury and such. I'm sure he'd hate to see two of his best spies out on maternity leave."

Barbara laughed, "I'd be out Clint, not you. The baby is in me birdbrain."

"Oh. Right."

He'd kissed her forehead, wrapping an arm around her waist and placing his hand on the flat of her belly.

"Hey, since I'm Hawkeye, and you're Mockingbird. What'dya think the kid be?"

"Hmm…. How about 'Hummingbird'? Those guys are pretty badass."

Clint pulled his mouth down in a frown, one eye squinting.

"Yeah, he can let out sonic screeches or somethin'."

She snickered and pressed her body closer to his, "And what makes you say it's a boy?"

"Call it intuition. Not that I wouldn't want a girl, if it's a girl she can be Hummingbird."

"And what if it's a boy?"

"Sparrow."

Now it was Barbara's turn to look skeptical.

They were quiet after that, watching as the other people in the restaurant chattered and sipped their wine. Then Clint felt the vibrations of muffled laughing and he looked down at his girlfriend with raised eyebrows.

"Something funny Bobbi?"

She snickered, slapping the table with her palm, sides heaving with the effort of trying to contain her mirth. When she finally was able to control her breathing, she took a deep breath and beamed at Clint, tears of laughter in her eyes.

"I just had THE best mental image."

"Should I even dare to ask?"

"You an' me." She snorted, "In a nest right. Sitting on an egg an' screeching at everyone and anyone who comes too close."

Barbara cackled, stomping her feet.

Clint had to admit, it was an entertaining thought. He chortled along with her, the both of them ignoring the disdainful looks they received from the other patrons.

Six months later on October twelfth, Barbara had stopped smiling. She locked herself in their bedroom and stayed there for two weeks.

She'd miscarried.

Clint had left her alone, knowing she was more affected by this than he. Still, he couldn't quite shove off the disappointment he felt wrenching in his gut. If anything, he was more distressed over Barbara's wellbeing. After all, they hadn't wanted a kid… right?

Since 'Feather' never made it into the world, Clint and Barbara's relationship had been on the decline. She'd no longer grab his ass when they passed each other in the hallways in the hellicarrier and he'd no longer stick feathers with sexual innuendos in her spare bras and panties.

The other agents had noticed this, and even Fury had stopped sending the pair of them on missions together.

The velvet box with the ring had been swallowed by Clint's boxer shorts and socks, shut tightly away in his side of the dresser.

At their apartment, words between them were scarce, and Clint could sometimes hear her crying in the shower.

He'd tried to comfort Barbara once, telling her that it wasn't her fault.

She'd given him a black eye.

It was all going downhill so fast, Clint was scrambling to get it back. Only it was like trying to hold water in your hands. No matter how hard you clenched your fists, the water would just drip out.

They were on the verge of a breakup, both knowing it would be any day now. Clint had suggested that they at least try to rekindle the flame, anything so long as they didn't let the fire just die out. Movies, missions together, a couple nights of wild sex…

This of course led to another somewhat-unplanned-but-planned pregnancy.

Clint thought their problems were over as he looked over her shoulder at the plastic test tube, only Barbara looked a little less than stellar. In fact she'd cried, but at least didn't punch Clint when he'd held her tightly, muffling her sobs in his chest. As it turns out she thought that she was replacing 'Feather.'

Clint smoothed her hair back, calmly stating that nothing would replace their miscarried girl. This was just another chance to get it right.

And get it right Clint had meant.

There were regular doctor appointments, absolutely no missions for Miss Mockingbird, a steady diet and low-strenuous exercises.

Both were elated when she passed the sixth month mark.

Soon, nine months of Hawkeye waking up in the middle of the night to give massages to an aching body part, or taking a thirty minute drive to a Persian-Italian cuisine restaurant to get the special kind of Shrimp Alfredo they made would be over with. He could change the channel without receiving a kick to his face from his lovely manatee of a girlfriend. There would be no more Disney marathons or Assassin's Creed 2 repeats. Clint swore, if he heard the phrase 'Requiescat in pace' one more time he would put an arrow through the tv. All things considered, life going pretty well for the couple. Their relationship still hadn't fully recovered to its full glamour, but once 'Baby bird' came the pair suspected things would get back on track.

Fury had given Barbara a year of maternity leave and Clint would have a few months off starting a week before the baby was due.

Hawkeye was on his last work day scheduled, scowling from his post and eager to get home to Bobbi when all hell broke loose.

That day the Tesseract spat out some mythical Norse god, psychotic and deranged.

Clenched tightly in the Asguardian's hand, was the thing that would fuck everything up.

Just one touch of that sceptre to his chest, and Agent Clint F. Barton was replaced by a blank eyed goon, trailing after a dangerous criminal as if he'd been trained to do that his whole life.

At first Loki's 'Little Hawk' had resisted, enough to not kill Director Fury when expressly ordered.

The god had found it amusing, but would not tolerate disobedience from his pets. There had been a punishment each time Clint had even _thought_ of going against his Master's wishes. Punishments Hawkeye would never be able to admit to anyone without putting a bullet in his skull afterwards just to escape the shame and embarrassment.

He'd been marked a traitor and when his fellow SHIELD agents shot at him, it was aiming to kill.

If Black Widow hadn't snapped him out of it, Hawkeye would be dead.

i-~~~~~~~~~~~~~******~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-i

Clint was standing in the doorway of his and Barbara's apartment a few weeks after the Avengers had beaten Loki. 'His' stuff shoved in a backpack and suitcase, the pathetic image complete with a fussing newborn in one hand, and custody papers in the other.

"Bobbi, please. If you'll just hear me out-" he flinched as the door slammed in his face.

The baby started crying, and Clint almost did too, but pride kept him from doing so. Shoving the papers in his backpack and slinging it over one shoulder, he wondered numbly how to get the kid to stop wailing. He tugged the suitcase along behind him, rocking the arm that held his son as he'd seen mothers do, and headed out the building.

SHIELD might have branded him un-trustable, and Barbara might have just broken up with him entirely abandoning their child with him, but at least he still had the Avengers somewhat.

Natasha's car was a blessing on the darkest of days when she pulled up at their building, and knowing her best friend could use a little ill-placed humour, she rolled down the windows and tipped her sunglasses back.

"Hey there stranger. You looking for a ride?"

Clint looked up, not even able to put on a fake smile to hide how miserable he felt.

"Yeah. But only if you're going my way."

Not even their little inside joke had cheered him up, and why should it? She got out of the car and took the suitcase from him, popping the trunk open.

"I don't mind. I go wherever the wind takes me."

He didn't reply, getting into the passenger seat slowly so as not to disturb the now sleeping baby.

Natasha closed the back and slid into the driver's seat, putting the stick shift in gear.

"Clint, I know it's not going to make you feel any better, but things are going to work themselves out. You just got to give them time."

As the car lurched forward and sped along down the road, Clint let out a shaky sigh.

"I don't think so 'Tasha. Not this time."

If the Black Widow hadn't snapped him out of it, Hawkeye would be dead. And as they turned the corner, heading for god knows where, Clint wished that Natasha hadn't brought him back.

i-~~~~~~~~~~~~~******~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-i

((AN: Whoah hey, yeah. I actually wrote something. It's angsty, but what did you expect from me? I'm kinda new to writing things in the Avengers verse. Also am new to this pairing, so. Be gentle? Naw be as hard as you want.

I really love the idea of Superfamily but not super thrilled with the Stony part. So the next best thing is Smartass Family, but I have yet to read any fics of that. So. Because I love FrostHawk, and there isn't a lot of fluffy stuff between them, I'd thought I'd give it a go.

Just mentioned FrostHawk in this chapter, no real unf yeah stuff. Plus I suck at smut anyway, so. The most you'll get out of me is hot kissing or something. Besides you aren't supposed to put that sort of stuff on here anyway.

Barbara Morse is a real character, as is the miscarried baby and living one. Most of the stuff I will write for this story is actual comic book references mixed in with my own little touch. I hate to make her seem like a bad guy when in reality I love her but… Then the story would have no antagonist. So….

Anyway leave a review please, not necessary, but I would like to hear it. Loki's coming in the next chapter don't you worry your pretty heads off. I would like to have a consulting Loki, seeing as I suck at portraying him on my own. Same goes for Clint, if you see something not Clint-like then please point it out. That's what reviews are for! Once I get the story going, I'll be looking for some filler stuff between chapters so I'll ask for topics you'd want to see when I get there.

I hope you enjoyed, I will try to update this. I'm just awful at that though -Syd))


	2. Flying cars and awkward reunions

Almost two years into the future is where we find our next part of this tale.

Francis Robert Barton had grown from being an adorable finicky infant, into a knee-high devil child.

Not even Darcy would babysit him anymore.

Clint was not a happy camper.

It had been a usual Monday morning, starting with yet another war at breakfast time between man and toddler. Toddler won, again, and after a shower for them both, Clint had to chase a streaking Francis for half an hour before he was able to wrestle a shirt and diaper on the kid.

Then came the ungodly hour of Blue's Clues and other Nickelodeon baby cartoons, to which Hawkeye had to remind himself repeatedly that shooting an arrow through Diego's face was not considered 'A plus parenting'.

At least the phone rang, giving him the perfect excuse to leave the room.

Francis took this time to grab the remote in his pudgy hands and proceed to change the channel.

The little shit.

Clint sighed upon hearing J. Jonah Jameson screeching yet again about New York's number one menace and answered the phone.

" Hello, it this Clint Barton?" a woman asked in a drawling tone.

"That depends on who's askin.'"

He could hear her disapproving tut and the sound of typing on the other line.

"This is Hannah Kang from children's services. I've been assigned your case regarding the custody of a one Francis Barton."

Clint felt sick, leaning on the wall and pretending to look suddenly fascinated by his fingernails.

"Yeah? Well there's no need for that. I've got custody of him, Barbara left Francis with me almost two years ago. I haven't gotten one call from her, or even an email that says she's remotely interested in takin' him back."

Hearing his name, the tot heaved himself off of the couch and waddled into the kitchen. Clint looked down, ruffling the boy's blonde hair with his free hand.

"Miss Morse is his mother, it's only right that she be able to see him Mr. Barton."

"With all due respect ma'am, I couldn't care less if she came crawling to me on her hands and knees, begging for me to take her back. I still wouldn't want her anywhere near France. She made it pretty clear that she wanted nothing to do with us."

Francis, now bored, began running around his father in a circle letting out excited 'ahhhs' and 'ooohs'.

Clint nudged the kid with his foot, silently motioning for him to shoo.

"Regardless, this company stands for the rights of both parents Mr. Barton."

Translation: a bunch of feminists that had it in their heads that all men were idiots. Therefore they couldn't possibly manage raising a kid on their own without a woman present.

Francis, angry that Clint wasn't fully focused on him, picked up a toy car in his tiny fist and raised his arm. Puffing his cheeks out and looking upwards in a glare, he gave his father a fair three second warning. Then flung the jeep upwards, letting out a shrill warrior screech that he'd heard from a Disney movie.

"I'm not an incompetent father Miss Kang. I can perfectly handle raising Francis all on my-SON OF A B-"

He barely ducked in time to avoid getting a tooth chipped.

"Mr. Barton?"

"B…..Batch of cookies. That's right. I'm sorry ma'am I'm going to have to call you back. My cookies are burning."

"Mr. Barton, this can't b-"

Clint slammed the phone down on the receiver, gray eyes ablaze.

He turned to Francis, mouth pulled down in a frown. The toddler looked up at him with a face of one of god's perfect little angels. Clint didn't buy it for one second.

As he lunged to grab him, Francis let out another shriek and evaded, bare feet slapping on the tile as he scurried under the table. The archer let out a grunt of annoyance at his miss, glaring at his spawn darkly, his voice dropping into a dangerous warning tone.

"Francis, I swear to god. If you throw one more hotwheel at me I will tie you up with my extra bowstrings and dangle you over the empire state building."

A corvette hurtled towards him, connecting with his jaw. Goddamn this brat had ridiculous aim for his age.

"THAT IS IT. COME HERE RIGHT NOW YOU LITTLE-"

For the sake of the more sensitive readers, I won't go into detail the extent of Clint's vulgar vocabulary.

Father and son ran around the kitchen table, one thinking it a great time and the other finding it almost worse than that one time he'd allowed his brother Barney to push him on the merry-go-round.

But it was all fun and games until you ran head first into a six foot two god of mischief.

Francis whined, falling back on his bottom and slapped his feet and hands on the tile to vent his frustration. He craned his neck up to get a better view of the thing he'd so graciously slammed into and fell backwards from the effort, his bright blue eyes wide.

Clint nearly had a heart attack, almost falling back himself.

i-~~~~~~~~~~~~~******~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-i

Of all the things Loki had been expecting to see when he'd returned to his favourite little hawk, this was easily not one of them. He raised a thin black eyebrow, regarding the child below him with an amused expression, and then looked to Clint.

"I must admit Barton, this isn't how I imagined you on your days off."

Hawkeye's mouth was dry and for the moment he'd forgotten how to speak.

"I'm assuming he's yours. Disorderly, doesn't shut up, impeccable aim, and of course…"

The god knelt down, pressing his fingertips in the toddler's soft stomach, coaxing out a giggle from the boy.

"A rather poor judge of character."

Loki smiled faintly, grabbing Francis' feet softly as they waved about in the air.

Clint was really going to be sick this time.

When words finally came, it took every fibre in the archer's being to not sound panicked. If he could make his way over to his Avenger's ID card and perhaps pick up his bow on the way, he might have a chance. But that wasn't considering his son currently at the mercy of an insane killer.

"Look… Whatever you want. You can have it. Just please. Please… leave him alone."

Skipping straight to the begging this time when normally someone would've had to try really hard coax it from him was an odd feeling, but he wouldn't risk Francis for anything.

Loki snapped to attention, looking from his crouched position with a smirk on his face. Ah, how he loved to hear his hawk take on that tone…

"Right… You think me genocidal maniac, world domination enthusiast, and a psychopath. Unfortunately, the appeal to be those things has been lost. I am not here to harm you or your offspring. Don't fret."

His smile grew, and he stood picking up the wiggling toddler with the motion, looking very smug as he watched Clint have a mental breakdown.

"I merely came to catch up with an old ally, and it seems we have quite a bit of catching up to do indeed. Starting with this little fellow."

Clint would've loved to say that hearing Loki's 'intentions' eased his panic somewhat. Perhaps the two of them would sit down and reminisce about the good old days, pour themselves a couple drinks and casually take turns entertaining the tot.

Unfortunately, that would make for a rather boring story.

i-~~~~~~~~~~~~~******~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-i

Swallowing nervously, Clint trailed after Loki into the living room, body as tense as a drawn bow.

Francis was totally unfazed by his father's odd behavior, and continued to be fascinated by this newcomer. He was perched comfortably on the god's arm, legs dangling over with both hands buried deep in that black hair. He'd never touched such soft hair before, and was half-tempted to stick the inky locks in his mouth. In his underdeveloped mind, the toddler recalled a half forgotten lesson from the pretty woman, Jane, about not eating hair.

He'd listen, just this once.

Loki took a seat in the armchair, adjusting the child in his lap comfortably and signaling for his former minion to do the same. It was very satisfying to see that Barton still followed his orders.

"Well? Speak, Hawk. Do tell me about this adorable little thing."

Clint bit back his haughty reply, and instead turned it into a polite inquiry.

"You came to catch up right?"

"That, among… other things."

Clint felt an involuntary shiver run up his spine, unease rising in his stomach when Loki smirked at him with THAT look in his acid green eyes. Even with a baby on his lap, seated in a worn armchair in a run-down apartment, the god still managed to look menacing and powerful.

Satisfied, Francis relinquished his hold on his new friend's hair and moved to sit in the tall man's lap, sucking his thumb and turning his attention to the television. Loki grinned like a Cheshire cat and brought a lazy hand up to stroke the boy's feather soft hair.

It was even more amusing to watch Hawkeye squirm like this than he'd originally thought.

Loki would never intentionally harm a child, but he'd leave that little tidbit of information just out of reach for a bit longer. He wanted to see just how far he could milk this new anxiety and fear from his little hawk.

"What is his name Clinton?" Loki asked, sending a slightly chastising look at the archer, finding it rude that he'd still not been introduced to this tiny mortal.

Clint hesitated, his tongue like lead in his mouth.

"Francis."

"After your middle name, a fine tradition indeed. And his mother? Is she here?"

Clint struggled, trying to think of a good lie, but unfortunately coming up short.

"She's…. not around."

Loki clicked his tongue, almost shaking his head in distaste.

"Hiding something from me of all people Barton? Not your smartest move. You know, it's things like these that make me realize I am doing you a great favour by checking up on you."

Yeah. Right. A favour.

This time Hawkeye wasn't fast enough to not spit the first thought in his mind out without thinking it over first.

"No offense, but I really don't see how it's any of your business. Could you please put him down and just leave me the fuck alone? I'm not your little bottom bitch anymore, and I'd rather not call Thor and the Avengers down here to kick your ass back to Narnia."

Loki's gaze grew hostile and the hand that'd been stroking Francis' hair halted. It rested there on the boy's head, a silent threat in the air.

Clint felt his heart skip a beat, then decided it would be best to sing like the bird he was.

Well not literally sing, you know like spoke… bird metaphors…

Never mind.

"Barbara left Francis with me when he was only a few days old. She's never been around, and that's how it is going to stay."

On a whim, he added quietly.

"I don't trust people who cross me."

The god resumed petting the small mortal child, the threatening aura dissipating as quickly as it had come.

"Some unresolved animosity is still here I see. Tell me, is she really that bad?

Loki didn't doubt that Barton had a good reason to keep the boy to himself. After all, his little hawk wasn't one to hold spite over another without due course.

This was something Clint was not prepared to talk about, least of all in front of the person who'd been the cause of it. He shifted uncomfortably, searching for the right words.

"She's not bad. I loved her, and we even planned to elope into the mountains to get married. But I'm guessing that you can figure out things didn't exactly go according to plan."

"Well? What happened?" Loki gently prodded, immediately sensing the tension surrounding the other man, "People just don't fall out of love."

Clint muttered incoherently. He folded his hands in his lap and tore his gaze away from Loki, focusing instead on the television Francis was currently engrossed in.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

"You happened."

i-~~~~~~~~~~~~~******~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-i

Loki should have expected that, he did have the unfortunate tendency to become the cause of many broken relationships. But there was something he still didn't quite understand.

"None of what happened was your fault though, you were under the influence of myself and the Tesseract."

Clint shrugged, the corners of his mouth twitching into a grimace.

Now interested, the trickster allowed Francis down from his lap and turned his gaze to his former thrall.

"Surely… Someone must have understood."

"Yeah, well. SHIELD don't see it that way. You cross them, they cross you."

Feeling his confidence build slightly now that his son was out of immediate danger, Clint turned his sass and bitterness up a notch.

"And of course, I had a very convincing argument you know. 'The glowing blue cube of self-sustaining energy made me do it!' They all but laughed at me."

Hawkeye sighed.

"But hey, it's cool. I'm pretty used to livin' like a vigilante. If I was Nick Fury, I woulda killed me on the spot. No honour in traitors and all that. I suppose living like this is better than lying facedown in a gutter somewhere or locked up where the sun don't shine."

Loki felt a twinge of guilt; he hadn't wanted to cause such pain to his favourite minion.

"I am a god Barton, surely they are not dense enough to think that a mere mortal could fight my thousands of years of experience and advanced use of magic."

Another shrug was the only answer he received.

"This isn't right and you know it, honestly, even I think that they are in the wrong."

The Asguardian tapped an absent-minded rhythm on the arm of the chair, bringing one long leg up to cross on top of the other.

"I could be of some assistance, if that is what you desired. Testify on your behalf. After all, I am quite proficient in the art of coercion."

Clint actually did a double take, shooting a bewildered look over to his former master, unbelieving that there was something in the god other than hatred, malice, and power lust. Could it really be that easy to get his life back to normal? He could go work for SHIELD again, Barbara would apologise and Francis could grow up with a proper mother…

But the past few months resurfaced in a blur, Clint finding his fantasy tainted and no longer desirable.

"I don't really know what to say to that, other than thanks. But no thanks."

Loki leveled his gaze on the mortal, confused as to why he wasn't jumping at the chance to redeem himself.

"Really? Are you absolutely certain? I don't make offers like these lightly. This is my way of apologizing Barton, and I don't understand why you won't take it up."

The former spy sighed, his clasped hands twitching.

"You know. I've worked for SHIELD practically my whole life. I've done every single mission, hidden their dark secrets, and done things I am not proud of. Sure I look out for me, but I can be a team player when necessary. I can't tell you how many times I've stuck my head out for those people. How many tortures I've endured, or bribes I've turned down when asked for information. Then you come along and screw shit up, and I'm caught in the web. Instead of welcoming me back, those damned bastards took away my ranking, paycheck, and even my girlfriend. All those years of my blood, sweat, and tears meant nothing to Director Fury. So I started to wonder, do I really want to work for a company like that?"

Clint was glaring now, body rigid as if he were waiting for just the right moment to pounce.

"I don't want to work for fake trust, and I certainly don't want a girl who'd put her job before our kid. I don't need help from you, them, or anybody. Did that answer your question?"

He looked to Loki, obviously still hostile towards the god, but for the moment convinced that he was no immediate threat.

"Yes. I do believe it does."

An odd sort of melancholy seeped into the room, their voices fading in with the background noises of 'Tom and Jerry.'

God and mortal seemed content to stare at each other, wondering just how to proceed with this awkward reunion of sorts.

The piercing shrill of a telephone broke their concentration at the same time, Loki leaning back in his seat leisurely and raising a thin eyebrow.

"Aren't you going to answer that?"

Clint frowned, but relented and got up, trudging towards the kitchen. His eyes however, never left the smug immortal perched in his chair like royalty.

He answered the phone, somewhat rudely, and flinched when he realized who was on the other line. Fuckin' social services just didn't know how to mind their own goddamn business.

Loki listened to the conversation with only half his attention span, the other working out how best to continue on with his plan. He glanced idly over at Francis, marveling at how his hawk had produced such a fine looking fledgling. Old paternal feelings swelled in his chest, constricting his airway with the pain of remembering such long forgotten things.

Hesitantly, with no ulterior motive in mind, he once again placed his hand on the boy's head, gently raking his fingertips through the soft golden down.

Francis cooed, and pushed his head towards the trickster's retreating fingers, wanting a repeat of the action.

Loki complied, a warm smile gracing his handsome face.

The toddler was so soft, and warm to touch. Unable to resist his slowly resurfacing maternal instincts, he scooped Francis upwards and pressed the child close to his chest. Loki relished the feeling of the boy's tiny thud of a heartbeat, the ever so faint sound of breath being drawn in and out. He could detect the faint smell of milk and crackers, the freshness that came about with being clean, and of course…

The tantalizing scent of Clint.

Going so long without his favourite lackey had left Loki in a general state of unrest and grumpiness. He'd sort of missed having the mortal constantly at his side, the feel of that coarse sandy hair between his fingers, and every single intimate moment they'd shared.

Loki knew his obsession with Agent Barton was bordering dangerously on the fine line of amour, but he couldn't seem to stop himself.

Francis brought the god's attention back to the present when he'd begun to play with his long dark hair again. He could feel that the small mortal was getting close to sleep, and so he began to rub soothing circles into the child's back.

The tyke was out in a matter of minutes.

Once he'd felt Francis' breathing lengthen in the telltale signs of sleep, Loki stopped and let his hand rest on the small of the boy's back.

The feeling of being needed by someone again hit the trickster with full force.

He felt his breath hitch, and he had the strong urge to quickly rid himself of this nuisance sleeping on his shoulder in favour of a nice dark corner to brood.

Loki almost did, but stopped himself. He could feel Clint's gaze upon him, and realized that the archer must have been watching him the entire time.

No matter. He'd already made a decision on what his next plan was.

i-~~~~~~~~~~~~~******~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-i

It seemed like forever had passed until Clint had been able to hang up on Hannah Kang, she'd really drilled him with some difficult and seemingly excessive questions.

He'd of course, seen the entire exchange between the lie-smith and his son, and to say he wasn't a even little concerned would be an outright lie. Once Loki grew attached to something, it wasn't easy to get him off of it.

Taken from someone who knows this flaw firsthand.

Once Clint hung up the phone, he casually fished out his wallet and grabbed the Avengers ID card, ready to call them in case something went down. Then he took a deep breath, and made the journey back to the den.

"I appreciate you getting him to his nap a little earlier than usual, but I really think you should go now Loki. I am far from trustin' you, and I'm not comfortable with you being around Francis."

The god opened his mouth to interject but Clint cut him off,

"Natasha and Tony are coming over soon, and they aren't going to be as open-minded as I am about you being here right now. If anything they're going to assume that you've got me under mind control again and then proceed to call Thor."

It was a lie, but he hoped it was a good enough one to-

"That was a rather impressive fib Barton, but a good liar always knows that the length of his lie is truly what makes or breaks it. Always try to keep them short and to the point."

Smug bastard.

"Well, I am going to call them for real if you don't leave."

"And let us again rethink that plan. I believe I am holding something of rather important value to you."

Clint swore, clenching his fist. How the hell was this supposed to work out the way he wanted them to?!

Loki stood, carefully, and smirked, walking until he towered over his hawk, one arm still holding the toddler steady and the other moving to tip Clint's head upwards.

"I have decided what I am going to do, Clinton."

His name rolled off the god's silver-tongue in a way that made him extremely uncomfortable.

"I will stay and assist you in rearing young Francis here. Consider it my _apology_ for taking over your mind."

Hawkeye barely had time to register what was happening next until it was too late to take any action against it. He felt Loki's breath, cold and seductive on the sensitive shell of his ear.

"And, perhaps, in time. You will realize that I did not merely make you do all those things merely to show the extent my control over your mind."

As quickly as he'd advanced, Loki had retreated. Clint watched with utter disbelief as Loki walked away to explore the apartment, Francis completely oblivious and passed out on his shoulder.

And that was how the God of Mischief had come to live in the Barton's tiny one bedroom flat.

i-~~~~~~~~~~~~~******~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-i

((AN: Whoah this was the fastest I've ever updated a chapter. Ehehehehe.

Not much to say here, well there is. But I'm just tired and don't really feel like saying much seeing as it's late in the night.

I hope my fluff in disgusting enough. Like fairy floss. You love it, but hate it at the same time. Because you know it'll rot your teeth.

As always, tell me what you think. Drop a review- Syd))


	3. Cold water and Animated movies

Clint still couldn't believe that Loki, the Loki, the guy responsible for this whole schlep, was now living at his apartment.

The first night had been the worst shock, he'd just put Francis to bed and there the god was, casually in the doorway. It was very unnerving, and Hawkeye did his best to play it off as he did everything, but soon found it just plain downright annoying as he felt the god's eyes on his back.

He stalked into the kitchen, hopefully just enough out of earshot from Francis' room, and turned to Loki his face set in a frown.

"Look. I don't know what you want, or why I'm even putting up with you right now. But hey, SHIELD agents are known for their resilience and ability to adapt to chaotic situations I guess."

Clint really didn't know where he was going with this, and Loki appeared more amused than anything.

"Just, don't follow me around like this. It's bad enough you've got Francis liking you, I really don't want you rubbing it in my face."

"Clinton, I had no idea you were capable of being so paranoid, or jealous for that matter."

"Yeah well, how would you feel if you were in my shoes right now?"

Loki's eyes gleamed with mischief, a smirk playing on his thin lips.

"Why I would be honoured that a god has graced my pathetic mortal presence. I would also offer him food, seeing as he would be staying in my humble abode."

Did Loki just make a joke inside an insult? Okay, this was getting a little too weird for Clint's liking.

"Food. Are you serious?"

"Do I look to be joking Barton?"

Clint blinked, turning around and reaching into the cupboard. He then tossed a bag of hot cheetohs directly at the trickster's face. But of course a god had inhumanely fast reflexes though, and caught it just before it hit its mark.

"Bon appetite, your highness."

Loki said nothing as the mortal brushed past him. He could feel the hostility radiating off his former minion and watched with annoyed eyes as Clint stalked off towards the master bedroom, resisting the urge to punish him for his insolence.

He could understand though, why his being here distressed the mortal so. But that understanding only went so far though. Loki after all, was a god.

i-~~~~~~~~~~~~~******~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-i

Clint was just slipping into a pair of pajama bottoms when his heightened senses suggested he no longer had privacy along with a new unwanted houseguest. Slowly he turned, fully aware that he lacked a shirt, but at least had some goddamn pants on.

"You know, my door was closed for a reason."

Loki looked around his room with distaste.

"This is where you rest? This is a broom closet Barton."

"Yeah well, you give up space and luxury for an affordable place."

Loki scoffed, his eyes trailing down the archer's bare torso, marvelling at the toned muscles and sun kissed skin. Clint was suddenly very self conscious, and crossed his arms over his chest in an effort to shield himself from those piercing green eyes.

"This is my room."

"Clearly."

Silence hung in the room.

"Meaning, in the most respectful and literal way, get out."

"Tsk. You would treat your guests as such? A guest that happens to also be your god?"

The room dropped a couple degrees in temperature, and Clint shifted restlessly.

"Look. I get it, you want me in your sight at all times so I don't report you. Remember I don't work for SHIELD anymore..."

Loki chuckled.

Oh that's not good, Loki chuckling is never good.

"Barton, you have it entirely backwards. I could care not if you were to report me to anyone. It would in fact amuse me truthfully."

Clint's eyes followed the god warily as he sauntered over and perched on the edge of the bed, running those long fingers of his over the soft plush of the comforter.

"Then... is there any particular reason as to why..."

Realization hit him like an ocean wave upon the sand.

"Hell, fucking, no."

Flustered, and annoyed as all hell, Hawkeye grabbed a pillow and left the room in a hustle.

He was so not in the mood for stupid sex-deprived gods.

Loki smirked, reclining on the mattress with a soft laugh. Mission accomplished.

i-~~~~~~~~~~~~~******~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-i

Sunlight peaked through the blinds at last, and the trickster rolled away from it, shoving a pillow over his head to block it out. There was nothing he detested more than being awoken from a well needed rest, and this blasted sun was really starting to get on his nerves. He never really had the chance to lie down and rest like this in a long while, and Loki really wanted nothing more in life at the moment then to just remain like this. Halfway between asleep and awake, nicely comfortable, with the scent of Clinton around him-

Wait a moment-

Clint?

Where exactly was-

The god opened his eyes, pupils dilating at the unwanted brightness, and made a quick scan of the room as he sat himself up.

Oh yes. He'd almost forgotten.

He was in Clint's apartment. Where he would remain until such a time as he felt the need to leave.

Loki stretched, shoulders back and arms outstretched, and let out a soft yawn as he swung his feet over the edge of the nest he'd made. (Hawkeye would have quite the adventure putting this bed back together)

Once that was over with, he brushed his sable hair back into its usual flipped state, and got up to walk to the door. Quietly, he pushed it open, and stepped into the living room to investigate.

Clint was sprawled out on the couch, legs a tangled mess in the quilt Loki had seen tucked away under the sofa yesterday. His face was turned away, into the cushion, and one arm hung over the edge and unto the floor. Softly he snored, completely oblivious to Loki's presence for the time being, and shifted only a bit as the god stepped closer.

Loki decided that the archer was still asleep, for however long left, which gave him the perfect opportunity to experiment.

Reaching into the shimmering pool of magic his immortal blood held, Loki drew out the blue link that had once bound Agent Barton to him in servitude. He extended it, painfully slow towards the slumbering human, and kept a calculating eye out for any sort of reaction. In his mind's eye, he could see the remainder of the Chitauri's magic. A swirling clear crystal blue, intertwining in with the dark violet of Clint's aura.

Interesting.

Even after two years, the damage done to the mortal's soul had remained. Then again, Loki had only to look into his own and see the turquoise that had replaced his once acid green magic.

Loki broke the link between them, sighing a bit.

He still had time yet, before the other would wake, as so took a silent seat on the table next to the sofa. Intensely he stared, eyes narrowed and hands twitching to grab and touch and hold. Hands itched to show Barton his proper place in life again, by his side and nowhere else. It infuriated him, the thought that Clint had been happy and content before he'd invaded earth. He was a god, immortal. Surely Loki was more deserving of such a life. He had lived through so much despair and torment, while this insignificant human enjoyed things such as companionship. The freedom to do what he pleased...

The sound of a door creaking snapped Loki from his thoughts, and he glanced away from Clint to see a disheveled looking Francis yawning in the doorway to his room. The boy rubbed at his eyes and made his way over to the couch where his father slept soundly, not even acknowledging Loki's presence in the room. He heaved himself up on the sofa and crawled onto Clint's chest, lying flat and exhaling.

Loki tilted his head, extending his hand and gently moving aside some of Francis' feathery blonde hair.

"Hello child. Have you come to rouse your father?"

"Hungy."

The god nodded in understanding, "I see. Well if that is the case, then I know an excellent way to wake him. Would you like me to demonstrate?"

The wheels of Francis' toddler mind turned, only understanding the words 'I' and 'wake him.' He nodded, and let himself be picked up and placed snugly in the crook of one of the god's long arms. Loki stood, and gently drew aside the quilt that covered Clint. Then. tossing the blanket on the ground, he once again reached inside for his magic, and formed a small sphere of icy water right above his fingertips. Thinking about what was to come next brought a smirk to his lips, and Loki daintily dropped the freezing water directly on Clint's crotch.

Clint immediately sprung up, gasping, goosebumps appearing on his skin while Loki and Francis looked on, innocent as doves.

"W-What the he-He-Hatties?" (Clint was trying to cut back on swearing)

He shot a dark glare up at Loki, already knowing this day was going to be awful. He got a sweet smile and a giggle from Francis in response.

"Hi daddy!"

i-~~~~~~~~~~~~~******~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-i

Clint did his best to go through his normal day, which mostly consisted of taking care of Francis and worrying about money. He was cleaning up after breakfast when he noticed that his son had really taken a liking to the tall foreboding immortal who had taken residence in the armchair by the door. Loki seemed preoccupied, but always smiled and accepted whatever toy or snack Francis offered him. Clint didn't know if he should be concerned or relieved.

In the back of his mind, a tiny voice whispered that he'd missed Loki, and that Loki still controlled him. That must be the reason he continued to just stand here and do nothing while his son fawned over a wanted criminal.

The rational part of his brain, which like to defend Clint, argued that Loki had done nothing to warrant Clint's alarm or need to take any action against the god. After all, he had sort of believed Thor's story about Loki being controlled by the Chitauri. Clint might not be a doctor, but there was no denying that Loki had been sick those many months ago.

No point in arguing with himself. He'd only act if Loki gave him a reason to.

i-~~~~~~~~~~~~~******~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-i

Loki did not react as Clint picked up Francis from his lap, and placed the child on the couch nearby. Nor did he say anything as the television screen went black, and Clint inserted a small round thing into the black box underneath the television. He was aware of some Midguardian technology, but not everything, and certainly not whatever it was Hawkeye was doing right now. The magic box started playing the moving pictures again, and Francis squealed with delight.

"Yeah yeah! I know it's your favourite! But can you keep it down sparrow? The neighbors will throw bottles at the wall again."

Clint took a seat on the sofa, and pulled his wiggling son unto his lap, smoothing down his golden hair. Loki blinked, and spoke for the first time directly at Clint.

"What has got him excited so...?"

"It's his favourite movie. Treasure Planet. I'unno why, kids got some weird tastes. Least it's not a sappy princess movie."

Loki furrowed his brow, quieting down and focused on the screen, listening intently to the start of the movie. Clint glanced over for a moment, skeptical, but said nothing. It seemed Loki liked movies. Or at least this one, by how engrossed he'd become in the animated film. Hawkeye had seen this movie more times than he'd like, but seeing how much Francis and Loki enjoyed it, he found himself liking it too. Odd though, as this was. The god did not laugh at the parts Clint and Francis did, but it was clear he was amused, and all too soon the movie came to a close. As Jim looked up into the night sky and saw Sliver's smiling face in the constellations, Clint looked down and saw that Francis had fallen asleep. Thumb in mouth and cheek pressed against his dad's forearm, he did not stir as Clint gently scooped him up. Loki saw the movement from the corner of his eye, and watched as the pair vanished into Francis' room.

It was a wonder, how different Clint had been from the last time they'd met. Becoming a parent really did change a person it seemed. While he could see the obvious change in Clint's behavior and posture, Loki still could sense the underlying hint of defiance, and sassiness. Which was a relief, more than he was willing to admit.

Clint re-entered the room, and did the exact opposite than what he had done with the television and movie. If he noticed the green eyes staring intently at his back, he said nothing.

"So you liked the movie?"

Assuming the movie was the thing on the television they had just watched, Loki replied with, "It was... interesting. Is that fable true? And why is it they look like people, but they are not? Is it a sort of magic...?"

The archer puffed a laugh, and set the DVD back inside with the others, "It's called a movie. Like a story, only people act it out. This kind of movie is animated. Meaning people drew out each picture and coloured it. Then they take a picture of the picture they drew and put it all together really fast. That's how cartoons are made."

Loki looked on intrigued, "What I witnessed was a work of an artist...? I do not think I understand."

Clint scratched his head, thinking on how he would explain it better. An idea came, and he went to find a pencil and a stack of sticky notes. He took a seat on the coffee table across from Loki, and began to scribble on the notepad. Loki watched with feigned disinterest.

When he finished, Clint held up the notepad and drew aside some of the paper, revealing a small circle. As he let each paper drop, the ball seemed to move from side to side and up and down. He let the trickster take the pad from him and do it himself.

"See? That whole movie was like that. Only they can draw much better than me."

Loki flipped the pages, fascinated, green eyes sparkling with wonder. He couldn't remember the last time he'd learned something entirely new. Clint didn't really know what was so exciting about this, but was relatively pleased with himself that he'd shown something completely unknown to the seemingly ancient Loki.

Satisfied now, Loki placed the notepad on the coffee table, matching Clint's grey gaze with his own.

"Thank you Barton... I enjoyed that."

Hawkeye looked a bit uncomfortable, wanting to excuse himself, but... not doing so.

"Anytime."


End file.

Avengers, Family, Romance