bakerstreet | A new start

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A new start

Being with someone can change your life. But what if you can't have your old life back? For your own sake, the sake of your relationship, or by no choice of your own, you have to leave the old you behind. It can go from anything to changing a behavior to changing your whole identity, and all of it can be difficult. One thing is clear, however; to continue where or as you'd lived before is not an option if you want to keep this person you care for in your life.

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THERE WILL BE QUESTIONABLE CONTENT. Just because it's a shipping meme doesn't means everything's fluffy; in fact, more options than not have some unfortunate implications.

prompts;

Open Secret: You two have never specifically said who you are in this new place, though you've never denied it.
Witness Protection: To protect your lives, you must live under assumed identities.
Your Real Life: What you knew before was false. This is the actuality.
After a Tragedy: All your friends are dead. Your group is shaken. You saw someone you love murdered. The only other person you have left is the one you're with.
Second Chance at Life: After a brush with death, you've decided to do things right and actually live.
I Don't Want this Life, Dean: You don't want to continue in the family business - er, in your old ways set up by someone else, so you cling to someone who can give you a normal life.
Criminal: You did a bad thing and are wanted. For your protection and the safety of the one you lo...that person, you have to hide.

Turning Over a New Leaf: You're genuinely trying to become a better person and you can't do that with the reminders of your old home and old life.
Rehabilitation: Your lover is helping you get over your wounds, your traumas, or your flaws.
Blank Slate: You have to have a new life because you don't know your old one! All you know is the person you're with and the things they can tell you.
Partners in Crime: You two are rough around the edges, but you're reformed. Really, you just want a peaceful life!

Old Habits Die Hard: No matter what your life is now, you can't shake the need to double check the locks or hold your magic wand tight.
Guilt: You're guilty about your relationship, so you have to reside in hiding.
Through Elicit Means: You got with your partner through cheating and you want to keep that fact on the low.
Stolen Away: You stole your partner - from a bad situation or from someone cruel - so you have to keep your heads down
Taboo:
1. Incest: It's better for you to live where no one know's you're related.
2. Age Difference: You can always fake IDs and birth certificates.
3. Interspecies: There has to be somewhere that doesn't have the prejudices of your home.
Tyrannical Government: You're political enemies drawn together. Perhaps you're working to undermine the government, or maybe you've escaped from that place and are living in peace.
Pulled from the Darkness: Your previous life was so terrible, you don't want to even ponder it any more. End of story, it doesn't matter.
Dependent: You don't know anyone else in this new world of yours, or you don't know how to navigate it, making you dependent on your partner.
Protecting Them: You're with them and hiding them for their own benefit.
They Don't About Your Past:
1. Secret Monster: If they knew about who you used to be, they'd be disgusted and want nothing to do with you.
3. For Them: You're dangerous to be around, so you can't clue them in lest an old enemy or your own abilities come back and harm them.
4. Florence Nightingale: They found you and took you in to help you, no questions asked. You couldn't help but fall for them.
Using Them: This new life is just a sham. You want them to be your camouflage, maybe even getting others to believe you've changed.
Faked Turned Real:
Brainwashing:
1. One-Sided: You love them and want them to believe that things have always been like this. Can you be blamed for going about it this way?
2. Mutual: Both of you think you've always lived this life, thanks to outside forces.
Who Am I, Really?: You love your partner, but you feel like you're losing yourself.
WILDCARD

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"You know, I really didn't miss all this chopping wood. Did trees get more solid in the last five years?" Clint said, taking another swing at the piece of log and splitting it. To be honest he was glad that he was able to complain about this. Glad that Nat was here to complain to even if she would likely call him on his bullshit or give him a hard time about his age.

Clint didn't care about any of that stuff because he didn't always have the luxury of complaining about this stuff. But he could absolutely bitch about it without taking it for granted.

"Where's Thor with that big ass ax when you need him? He could stand to get in a good workout."

Natasha glanced up from her work, giving her companion a brief indulgent smile before turning over the knife in her lap and going to work on its opposite edge. "You're just getting older," she replied lightly, proving him right, at least.

She sat off to the side of the chopping block, impressive array of weaponry laid out on the little used picnic table next to her. She'd actually taken Steve's advice to heart, although she'd made sure to pack enough equipment along with her to keep communications open and waiting.

"Thor's probably still at New Asgard," she went on, finishing with one knife and picking up another. "I haven't heard from him in a while, come to think of it." The more days passed, the less she heard from anyone, really. "But you've got a good pile going, so keep at it. Gonna be cold tonight and the central heating just...sucks, Clint."

"We all are. Some of us just don't keep getting better looking as time goes by," he said, grinning before he turned his attention back to the pile of wood. It felt good to have something to focus on, a finite task that was nothing more than make the big pile of wood small and split.

"Don't go getting delicate on me. I'll take a look at everything tomorrow, I'm sure it just needs to be cleaned out. In the meantime we can just use Nana Barton's quilts. You think you'll need more than that to keep warm?" he teased before splitting another log. Despite everything the friendly banter with Nat was calming. The sort of familiarity that kept him from going completely crazy.

She gave him a playful wrinkle of her nose at his quip, followed by a soft chuckle, watching a bit idly as Clint went back to swinging the ax. Not for the first time was she thankful that he'd agreed to come back with her from Tokyo; neither of them had belonged anywhere else but here, really.

"Delicate?" That earned a light snort. "There are dust bunnies big enough to smother a whale in some of those corners, Barton. And I have allergies." A soft sneeze accentuated this. "But Nana's quilts should be enough. They really are warm. And comfortable and soft."

Even though she still felt a bit strange, sleeping in Lila's bed. She missed the kids, and Laura, desperately, but she knew not as much as her best friend. "But since you're hard at work with this, I'll cook this evening. If you can handle spicy food."

"See, that just proves my case right there. You wrinkle your nose at me and it's cute. Not fair that your wrinkles are cute," Clint teased before taking another few chops of the ax. To be honest he needed the physical activity as much as he needed the wood for warmth. If he exhausted himself enough then maybe he wouldn't dream too much when he slept. Sometimes dreams were the only way to see his family and other times... other times all he did was see them disappear before him. Too many nights he woke up screaming or sobbing.

It helped having Nat here though, knowing at least someone he cared about was left. That and it gave him someone to focus on helping, trying to keep her head above water as well.

"And I'll have you those dust bunnies are proud guardians of this place. And how spicy are we talking? That one time in Milan spicy or Jakarta spicy?"

Natasha laughed outright this time, shaking her head. "I age gracefully, what can I say?" She knew why he drove himself so hard, however; it didn't take a genius, after all. And she tried to help him as much as she could, but she carried her own regrets, her own ghosts. And they never tended to rest easy, not when they should.

But at least they had each other to cling to, when the bad dreams and the night terrors became too much for either of them to bear. Not a few nights had both of them bunked down on a pallet of blankets and pillows on the living room floor, just talking about nothing until falling back to sleep, trying not to dream.

"Well, they're starting to take over, so maybe we should mount some sort of counter-attack, da?" Sheathing her blades, she dusted her hands and pursed her lips in thought. "Maybe somewhere in the middle? I was thinking stir-fry, but there's this particular type of pepper flake I want to mix into the sauce." Natasha smirked, tilting her head at Clint.

"Shouldn't give you too much heartburn, not if you drink your milk."

Hearing her laugh was damn near therapeutic. Actually it did him better than a lot of therapy he'd gone to. He wasn't really keen on making himself happy but making her laugh? That actually did him some good he figured. Plus, it was a good laugh.

"First thing tomorrow morning we'll get the broom and see what we can do," Clint said. Part of him didn't really see the point but he knew that it was important to keep a routine if he wanted to keep the rest of his sanity in tact. And he was going to keep it in tact because he needed to make sure that Nat didn't completely lose herself.

"Alright, stir fry and antacids it is," he said, taking one more swing of the ax and leaving it buried in the stump. "Alright, ready to head in?"

"Oh, joy," Natasha muttered, though still with a small sort of smile. "Housework. My favorite." Not really, obviously, but it was a necessary and routine sort of chore, and she too understood its vast importance. Mundane chores provided work for the hands and let the mind sort of just follow along without having to worry too much. She'd never before done any sort of domestic chore in her life before relocating out here with Barton, but Natasha had quickly grasped its worth.

She smirked again at Clint's customary corniness, but gathered up her utensils and cleaning materials to head inside; the mosquitoes were starting to emerge in the pre-evening dusk, and it was definitely time to head in.

"Take come chicken out while I put these away." Natasha paused and blinked at how damned urbane that sounded, but just had to shake her head again, laugh at herself, and disappear into her borrowed room, stowing the weapons in their proper places.

"On it," Clint said with a nod. One thing that made this work so well was that they worked so well together. Sure the tasks were different but the effortless flow of give and take was there, that way they almost read each others minds or anticipated what they were going to ask made it so much easier to slip into a comfortable routine without it being as glaringly different as it could have been.

Clint still saw the ghosts of his family everywhere, he probably always would, but having Nat here didn't feel wrong at all. In fact it felt very right in a lot of ways, very comforting and natural.

Washing his hands he took the chicken that had been thawing out of the fridge and started to set the table. Even though it was just the two of them he liked the routine of that, of not just eating while standing in the kitchen or something like that.

"Shall we break out a bottle of something?" he called down the hall.

They did work well as a team. And that was probably why the both of them were still somewhat sane, all told. Natasha knew what Clint had lost, better than anyone. And he knew the burdens she still carried, even though she'd never let him share that heavy load. His shoulders were strong, yes, but he was still her best friend in the entire galaxy, and she'd promised herself long ago to protect him as best as she could.

Coming back into the kitchen, she twisted her hair up into a messy chignon and had to smile, seeing Clint setting the table. It was a good thing. A good routine, keeping things human, particularly when neither of them felt as if they were.

"Sure," she replied with a mild shrug. "Red probably goes good with this, something a little chewy with all of these vegetables." A trip around the kitchen saw her fetching peppers, onions, and a few other colorful ingredients before she settled at the counter to start chopping.

"Red sounds good," he said with a nod, heading to where the wine was to pick something out. He went back and forth between a few bottles and was about to pick one when he remembered he and Laura had gotten it to celebrate one of his retirements. She had rolled her eyes at him at the idea that he was actually retiring this time and he had been insistent. Closing his eyes Clint took a deep breath before settling himself and selecting another bottle.

"Hey Nat?" he said, moving over next to her so that he could grab a couple of wine glasses for them. "I just want to say... thanks. Thanks for being here and keeping me... sane. I don't know what I'd do without you."

It felt odd to say that out loud and to formally acknowledge it but Clint actually didn't know what he'd do without Nat here. He knew because every night there was a darkness that crept at the edges and threatened to take over that was only kept at bay by her presence. He wasn't sure if he could ever face her again if he let that happen.

She was smoothly chopping vegetables, her movements practiced and easy. Leaning aside for Clint to grab the glasses, Natasha hid a small smile and offered a gentle shrug, saying, "You're welcome. At least my being here keeps you from talking to yourself, right?" But she understood what he meant. Which was why she paused in her chopping and placed a light hand over his, giving him a soft squeeze.

"We're gonna be okay. You know that, right?"

One way or the other, they would be. As long as they were together, they could keep each other safe. She hadn't heard from any of the others in a while, but it was only a matter of time. Eventually, something would give. And then they'd fix things, no matter how difficult or unorthodox the solution seemed to be.

Natasha gave Clint's hand another soft squeeze, then picked up her knife again.

"We got enough ice?"

"I dunno," Clint said, unable to lie to Nat. Because he wasn't sure if they were going to be okay, at least not enough to make that promise to Nat. Just about anyone else he could lie and give them a big rousing speech but Nat would just see right though it.

"But I do know that with you here if feels like we have a chance," he told her, squeezing her hand back. The two of them had faced some really awful things together and no matter what happened he knew that so long as Nat was there they had a chance of coming out of it okay. Right now he felt like that was all he could ask.

"And I think we're good on ice. I think I smell a little ripe from the wood chopping though. You okay here while I grab a quick shower?"

Natasha nodded, scraping diced peppers into the skillet to cook. "You do, by the way." Her nose wrinkled, again, and she gave him an arch little look. "I'm good, promise. Just don't slip in the shower, da?" She waved a dishtowel at him to send him off, smiling in reassurance. She couldn't promise that things would be easy, but she did know that, somehow, they would be okay. As long as they stayed together, they'd be fine.

Supper was almost ready by the time Clint returned to the kitchen, the smells of cooking meat and vegetables thick in the air. Natasha was stirring the skillet, adding a spoonful of sauce every now and again. "Taste this," she offered, spearing a piece of meat with a fork and offering it out. "It shouldn't be too spicy, I didn't add that much seasoning."

Clint almost swatted Nat with a towel when she made the comment about how he smelled only it was probably the truth so he let it slid. This time. Nat was officially on watch though for that comment.

He felt better after a shower, slightly more human even if it was a somewhat hollow one. Food would help a little with that too, it was amazing what cleaning up and eating could do for a body and soul. That and good company.

"I know better than to fall into your traps," Clint told her even as he leaned in and took the bite of meat. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment, weighting his response to the food as he bobbed his head back and forth in thought. "Alright, so it just so happens that it's excellent and the right amount of seasoning. I guess you win this time."

"Yet you keep coming back every single time," Natasha observed, grinning as Clint obliged her little taste-test. "Sometimes I wonder about you, Barton." But she waited with bated breath for his pronouncement, smirking at his judgment.

"Perfect. A little of that stuff goes a long way, apparently." She went back to stirring the mix, giving her partner a playful nudge with one elbow. "And I always win. Well," she had to amend, "most of the time."

The timer dinged on the rice cooker and she turned off the stove's burner. "Ready to eat?"

"What can I say? I just can't get enough," he said, giving her a bit of a wink. "And I have to let you win so you'll stick around, don't I?"

He couldn't help but tease her, especially since she knew that full well he had never let her win a single thing in all the time they'd known each other. Clint was too competitive and respected Nat too much for that.

"I'm ready. Suddenly I'm starving. I think all that chopping wood caught up to me. I'm going to be sore as hell tomorrow," he said, grabbing the last few things and setting them on the table. If he didn't think about it too hard he could pretend like this was normal, like nothing was wrong when almost everything was wrong.

Natasha just gave him a Look for his teasing, but it was gentle and she laughed despite herself. "You're a glutton for punishment," the redhead observed, taking the bowl of rice to the table and returning for the skillet. Once everything was on the table, she took a seat beside her best friend in all of the world, chin propped on her hand as he poured the wine.

"Probably," she agreed to his quip about being sore. "I'll give you a rubdown later," she promised, ladling a generous amount of rice and stir-fry on her plate. "So you can enjoy the smell of Ben-Gay all night long." She wrinkled her nose playfully, giving him a little kick under the table.

"Don't threaten me with a good time," Clint groaned, the idea of a rub down sounding fantastic, even if it meant smelling that medicinal smell all night long. Right now though he was focused on the amazing smell of the stir fry, finding himself even hungrier than he thought he had been. Nat was an excellent cook and despite all the teasing he'd given her he was genuinely looking forward to eating, especially knowing that without Nat here he was just as likely to forget to eat.

Picking up his glass he held it out to her for a toast. It almost felt wrong to be doing something like a toast when they'd lost so much but he needed to do this so that he could remember that he hadn't lost everything. He hadn't lost Nat.

"To being there for each other?"

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A new start

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