Bartoned

Chapter 25

"We shouldn't have done the open house and this," you said as you bounced an already fussy Nattie on your hip. You could only imagine what was going to happen when they jabbed the sleepy little cherub in the thighs with needles.

This morning had been spent out in Brooklyn looking at houses. There had been an open house that was today only and you'd decided to try and fit in looking at a couple of others before heading back into Manhattan for Natasha's vaccination. It was not the smartest thing the two of you had ever done. But to be fair, it hadn't been the dumbest thing the two of you had done either, so you were trying to put a positive spin on it.

The house hunting felt like a complete waste of time. You'd go to see houses that seemed within a budget that were at least not Tony Stark-level high, and they'd be right on the other side of the city and falling apart. As soon as you got within a distance of the city that wouldn't kill you to travel every day, and suddenly they were these huge townhouses in the multimillion-dollar range.

Not that they weren't nice to look at. You would wander through large bedrooms and perfect bathrooms and think about the furniture you'd buy if you were rich enough to fill it.

It was just a little less fun when your daughter kept crying.

So now after spending most of the day driving around the city and getting a more and more irritated infant in and out of a car seat, only to finish the day at her pediatrician's office getting her first set of vaccinations since she was born.

"That first open house was today and today only. Might as well have gotten it all out of the way at once. It's not like I get many days off anymore," Clint said.

"Well, you're holding her when they jab her," you said.

"Aww, man," Clint asked. "She's gonna hate me."

"Yeah, she will," you said. "And I'll be her favorite forever and ever and ever."

"Sounds about right," Clint huffed. "You know I can afford it right?"

"What, being the mean parent? I doubt it, Clint," you teased. "You wouldn't last five minutes as the mean one."

He laughed and shook his head. "Not that. The house. The nice one."

"Bull... shit," you said. "Clint! You were living like a hobo when I met you. I'm still not sure if you own a second pair of jeans."

"I know," Clint said, taking Natasha off you, putting her on his shoulder, and starting to rock her and pat her back. She whined and threw her head around as he tried to settle her where you couldn't. "And yet, I've been working as a spy and the last line of defense for the planet since I was a teenager. You know how much hazard pay that is? Plus, up until this little nugget, I had no expenses outside of pizza and Starbucks. The apartment is free. It's just gone in my bank account and sat there."

You blinked at him slowly, unable to comprehend what he was saying to you. It made sense that he'd have been paid well considering the kind of work he did. But you couldn't quite make that align with the Clint Barton you knew. Nor how it could be enough to buy a four million dollar house when he hadn't even invested any of it. "What?"

"I mean, it'd be most of it. Or all... but that'd be worth it for her to have a nice home wouldn't it?" Clint said.

"What?" you repeated.

"I just..." Clint started.

"Natasha Barton?"

The call from one of the nurses interrupted Clint's attempt to clarify with you. The two of you approached her and she smiled warmly. "Through here Mr. and Mrs. Barton."