The Uncle From America

Chapter 4

Clint pov

The phone rang at five am. Clint picked up reluctantly, wishing that he could have one full night to himself. Maria had promised she'd secure a full week off-duty to set the pace with Hermione and give him time not to screw up (because she had that much faith in him), and that she would herself stop by the next day in the late afternoon to take care of the 'magic stuff' since he didn't want to associate with that shit anytime soon.

(Okay, maybe she hadn't worded it that way, but the intonation was clear. It somewhat intrigued him, because he might have suggested magic freaked him out, but he wasn't against a slow approach to it. He had that feeling Maria didn't like talking of magic, even less using it except apparently to zip his mouth. Maybe he could ask Natasha to dig on that trail. She was much better than him in subtle interrogation and Maria liked her more.)

Clint glanced quickly at the number, which turned out untraceable. He wagered it to be Natasha, and picked up.

"'lo?"

"You let her go through my stack?"

The sharp and biting tone promised retribution in case the question was answered positively. He bit back a groan and fell back on the mattress.

"Morning to you too Tasha."

"Hill called me half an hour earlier. I have a solo starting today, and she asked what kind of munitions I left at your place. I'm taking a wild guess; your niece opened the closets?"

"Hill is a tattle-tell, and no, I didn't let her go through your stack." Clint retorted petulantly. "She just looked, didn't touch anything."

"I told you a hundred times to lock those damn things!" she sounded angry. The man winced, thinking he was good for the couch for a couple weeks. "And Hill told me to remind you that Deputy Director does not mean 'call me every time you screw up and since you're a big man with big guns, you should handle that kind of situation on your own'."

"I didn't screw up!" The heavy silence on the other line was loud of significance. "Fine, maybe I did a little. But I have everything under control."

"Really?" the sound of her voice was laced with doubt. He rolled his eyes.

"I handled it just fine. She asked a couple of questions, I told her that was our ammunition for emergency missions and she let it go. I even asked her if she wanted me to teach her how to shoot."

"You are hopeless."

"Hey, she agreed. I think she was more intrigued than freaked out actually. You said a solo mission?" he asked, changing subjects. "I thought we were-"

"I'm off on a surveillance in Florida, it's just to keep busy." Natasha replied dryly. "Maria doesn't think it's a good idea if the girl had to confront a pair of assassins at once. She claims I'm going to scare off the kid." Pause. "I suspect her and Coulson to have money on how long it'll take before either you or your niece run away."

Clint frowned, a thought crossing his mind.

"Does Coulson know about..." he trailed off, suddenly wondering if Maria had mentioned the magic to Natasha or was leaving him the honors. Back at the Grangers, Maria had showed up alone and let Natasha take care of Harrison with SHIELD. "You know what, never mind. How long will you be gone?"

"About a week, maybe less depending on how fast I work." She sounded as annoyed as he felt. "I have to go now."

"I'll see you when you're back then," he replied. "Take care."

She hung up and Clint was left to stare at the ceiling. The first rays of daylight came through his curtains, lightening slightly the room. There was a crack up there, a bizarre kind of stain in the shape of an hourglass. Clint often stared at it when he started missing Natasha. It saddened and amused him all the same, how much of a sap he could be sometimes. Another glance at the clock and he figured he might as well get up. Hermione would probably stay a while longer in bed (he remembered how fast she fell asleep) but he had to draw a list of things to do to make his niece feel a little bit more welcomed. So he heated the water, took out two mugs and some coffee and grabbed a piece of paper and a pen to write everything down and make sure he wouldn't forget anything.