One Month Later-

"And block, and you missed again," Romanoff said, needlessly. "And block. How do you say 'Work harder' in French?"

"Kiss my derriere," I muttered, wiping sweat from my face, but at Romanoff's stern look, I sighed. "Travailler plus dur."

"We'll work on pronunciation later, but better. But you've got to keep your arms up," she told me, as she "gently" tapped my chin. "No matter what else is going on around you, you always have to be aware of your surroundings."

We sparred for a few more moments, with her throwing random French phrases at me all the while, before she swiped my legs out from under me. I landed on the mat, hard, and just stayed there, panting. I probably looked like a rag doll someone had simply dropped, but I didn't care. At this point, everything sort of hurt. Even muscles I didn't know could hurt did.

"What did you do to her?" I looked up at the seriousness in Clint's tone to see him rushing toward the two of us on the mat.

"I didn't do anything to her. I couldn't even touch her," I said, laying my head back down.

"Not you, kid. Romanoff, what were you thinking? You can't spar with a fourteen year old like that! She can't fight like you," Clint said angrily.

"I was teaching her how to fight. It's been a rather good incentive for her good behavior, and it seemed rather impractical for the daughter of one of SHIELD's top agents to be completely untrained, defenseless." Her voice was toneless, flat, but I still was mildly offended.

"A: I'm not a small child or a dog to be rewarded for good behavior, and B: I'm not completely defenseless," I protested.

Both Clint and Romanoff barely spared me a slightly patronizing glance, before he started talking. "Did you pass this through Coulson? 'Cause I'm pretty sure he would never agree to his daughter being the punching bag of a Russian assassin. 'Scuse me, ex-Russian assassin."

"If you have a problem with that, why didn't you put an arrow in my head, Hawkeye?" Romanoff's tone was mocking, but even I heard the ice behind it. I was quickly feeling rather left out of the whole conversation.

"Did you check with Coulson?" Clint repeated, his hand clenched around the bow in his hand.

"Yes, I did. I wasn't about to do something to jeopardize my standing at SHIELD. I sort of like living."

"Oh." Clint relaxed a bit, now looking mildly sheepish. "Sorry about that. It's just that Em's like a little sister to me, so I don't want anything to happen to her."

"Apology accepted." Though she said the words, her tone and tightly folded arms kinda told another story.

I looked between the two of them, wondering what had just happened. And feeling a bit like they had forgotten about me. But then Clint looked to me and grinned mischievously. "Well, kid, since Coulson gave the green light to train you, do you want to learn how to fire a gun?"

Looking back to Romanoff, I asked, "Avons nous fini?" She flicked a nod, then turned on her heel and went back in the office.

"Alright, the first thing you've got to know are the parts of a gun," Clint instructed, taking me over to where he normally did his target practice.

…

Over the next week or so, the three of us fell into an uneasy routine. All morning long, I would silently do my homework, while Romanoff stood watch. Then, after lunch, she would tutor me in French and the fine art of falling on my butt more times than I could count. When Clint would appear around two or three each afternoon, she would disappear into the office as Clint taught me more about guns and how to aim. And then we moved on to other kinds of projectiles: knives, balls, pencils, paper.

"Barton, if you've got my daughter climbing around in air shafts again, you will be filing paperwork for a week," Dad called from below us, though I had no idea how he knew that.

I looked to Clint in alarm, but he simply grinned reassuringly. Slipping his paper airplane between the vents silently, he took aim. The plane zipped neatly through the air, perfectly on target. But before it could hit Dad's head, his hand snatched it out of the air. "Barton, you have approximately three seconds to get out of here before you're running laps," Dad said calmly.

"Damn," Clint hissed, then started wiggling away.

"Time's up," Dad called, looking to the vent finally. "Four laps for teaching my daughter inappropriate ways to use her time, and four more for swearing in front of her."

"How did you even hear that?" Clint asked, giving up on the retreat and swinging the vent open. He jumped down, then reached up to help me down. "Shorty," he grinned.

"At least I haven't stopped growing," I retorted, even though I probably had. His immediate pout brought a smile to my lips.

"You didn't answer my question, Coulson. How did you hear me?" Clint asked Dad, apparently deciding to ignore me. It was times like this that made me forget he was nearly fifteen years older than me.

Though he did have a valid point. "How did you even know we were there?" I added.

"Clint's been sneaking through air ducts since he joined SHIELD, and he's been teaching you about projectiles, so it wasn't a hard leap in logic." Dad's tone was rather dry. "And I know you well enough to know what you would say when you got caught, Clint. But it's getting late and you have a date tonight, so you might want to get started on those laps. With traffic the way it is, you might just make it in time if you leave right now."

"You're serious. Eight laps? Just for that?" Clint whined.

"As a heart attack."

Clint stared at Dad for a moment, probably hoping he would change his mind, before finally turning around and jogging out the room. "Eight laps is going to take him forever, Dad," I said, trying to get a little slack for my friend.

"Yes, it is. Would you like to join him?"

"Nope. I'm good." There was no way I was going to be running eight laps of a New York City block.

"Good. Then why don't you go back down to the training room? I have a meeting with the Director in a few minutes, and I can't leave you in here alone." Dad wasn't accusing me of anything, but I still felt a stab of guilt. I knew exactly why he couldn't leave me in his office alone anymore.

"I'm really sorry about that, Dad," I said quietly.

"I know, Em. And you're going to only use your powers of hacking for good from now on, right?" he questioned, mildly teasing.

"Definitely. Maybe someday I can join SHIELD and use my hacking skills on the bad guys," I answered, finally giving voice to the thought that had been growing in the back of my mind for a while now.

"I'd like that," Dad smiled. "We can fight the bad guys together, me on the front lines, and you safe and sound at the base."

AN: I know this was supposed to be a Tasha centric one, but I couldn't resist showing how the three of them were fitting themselves into Emily's life. It was just too perfect! I thought Tasha being slightly jealous of Emily spending time with Clint instead was a nice touch, especially since Emily didn't recognize it as such. Anyway, I know I said I was going to do a sort of epilogue to this, but I think this is a good place to end. That's not to say I won't do one at some later date, but for now, this is it. So a big thanks to all of you, especially to those who've stuck with me and Emily from the very beginning. And a big shout out to those who reviewed my last chapter, KnowInsight, princess2015, AngelfromBeyondBelow, and PurpleReader29. Thanks so much! You all rock!