Disclaimer: I don't own the Marvel Cinematic Universe or any of its characters.

This is the first in an AU series where Darcy is Barney Barton's daughter and Clint's niece. It will hopefully follow through the various films, though it will get steadily more AU throughout. In this universe Clint's wife and family do not exist (I didn't hate them in the films, I just didn't particularly enjoy that storyline) and the farm is somewhere he bought and gave to Darcy and her mother to live in. There will be Clintasha in the future stories.

It was eleven months, three weeks and two days since Clint had been at the farm.

He stopped for two nights for Darcy's eleventh birthday, the time off booked far in advance.

He hadn't missed his niece's birthday since he'd first found out, a few weeks before her fourth birthday, that Barney had left one of his ex-girlfriends with a baby and not just bitter memories.

Darcy loved the pair of nerf blasters he'd bought for her. Her mom had insisted she couldn't practice with a real bow until she was fourteen, and that there were to be absolutely no real guns until she was at least sixteen, but the nerf blasters gave Clint and his niece plenty of entertainment without any danger.

Beth Lewis was a kind, generous woman, who had never held Barney's actions against Clint, but he knew if he broke her weapons rules that she would have no hesitation in making him regret it.

Clint left the morning after Darcy's birthday with his usual promise to come back and see her as soon as possible.

And it all went downhill from there.

The mission shouldn't have been anything particularly out of the ordinary, a week long at most with minimal danger.

But by the time Clint made it back onto US soil, two months had passed and he couldn't sleep through the night.

Nightmares weren't new to him. His childhood hadn't been ideal, and his teenage years not much better.

He hadn't been shaken like this in a long time, though.

It had all been much bloodier than expected, the circumstances much worse. There had been children involved … children he had been unable to save.

One of them had been about Darcy's age, with the same dark hair and a passing resemblance to his niece.

That girl haunted him.

He wasn't able to bear the idea of the farm, couldn't stand the idea of hugging Darcy when his hands felt stained with the blood of innocents he hadn't been able to help.

Phil looked at him with wary eyes but agreed to send him on another mission almost immediately, a simple one that didn't involve him having to leave the country.

He barely remembered the four days he was away, working almost entirely on autopilot and only managing an hour's sleep at a time.

When he came back and asked for another mission, Phil insisted he take a week off. It was clear that his handler (one of a handful of people who knew about the farm and Darcy) thought Clint should go and visit his family, but Phil couldn't force him into it.

Instead, Clint spent a week practically living in the shooting range, making both the trainees and the seasoned agents nervous enough that he had the place to himself for the most part.

From then he followed a pattern, taking as many missions as possible to distract himself, and spending almost all of the downtime Phil insisted on either at the shooting range or the gym.

He ignored the growing number of voicemails and texts Beth sent, knowing that he would be panicking both her and Darcy but unable to bring himself to speak to either of them.

Phil came to him, four months after that terrible mission, with the news that Beth had contacted him directly.

Clint sighed, "I gave her your number for emergencies," he admitted.

"She was very worried," Phil told him, a slight rebuke in his tone, "I told her you were alive, but that your mission had been … difficult."

"Thanks, Phil," he said, "I … I just can't see them, not yet."

Phil's expression softened, just slightly, "I'll give you missions, because we need you out there and you've shown that your concentration won't be shaken by this … but you have to go home eventually. You can't run forever."

"I know," he said.

And he did know, but that didn't stop him from wanting to blot out the memories by focusing solely on missions.

He sent Beth a text, apologizing and letting her know that he wouldn't be around for a while.

She would probably understand. It was Darcy he was worried about – it wasn't an easy thing to explain to a child. And Darcy would have so many questions that her mother would be unable to answer.

He considered what would happen if he visited. But when he closed his eyes all he saw was a small, still body.

No … he couldn't go back to the farm.

Not yet.

The days and weeks and months all blurred together.

One thing he noticed, though, was that not one single mission he went on involved any children.

He knew it was deliberate, and while part of him felt irritated that his handler was going easy on him, a larger part of him was grateful.

He really needed to be nicer to Phil. He wasn't ever going to be the sort to get his mission reports in on time (or even in any coherent form), but perhaps some vintage Captain America trading cards would show his appreciation.

Then, one day, out of the blue, he slept for six hours without once waking up in a cold sweat caused by nightmares.

And he knew that it was time to stop making excuses.

It was time to visit Darcy.

He didn't think he'd forgive himself if he missed her twelfth birthday.

When he returned from his assignment, he went straight from the plane to Phil's office, still dirty, damp and blood-stained.

"I need a week off," he said, before Phil could even begin to chastise him for trekking mud into his immaculate office.

"Well I need a report written in something that resembles English."

Clint dropped a file down on his desk, "the plane ride was bumpy," he said, to explain the shaky handwriting, "but I think I hit all the important points."

Phil opened the file and picked up the first sheet, "lots of bad guys, pretty stupid, clearly don't spend enough time in the shooting range if their aim is anything to go by … well, I suppose it is accurate, if not entirely professional."

"Can I borrow one of the planes?" he asked.

Phil just nodded, probably remembering the last time Clint had been on a commercial flight (but, really, it absolutely wasn't his fault that some idiot had tried to hijack the plane that day – and Clint's emergency landing had been amazing considering the circumstances and the bullet that had been lodged in his side at the time).

"I'm glad you're going," Phil told him as he turned to leave, "it will be good for you."

Clint grimaced, "I imagine there will be some grovelling."

Phil laughed, perhaps a little wistfully, "some things are more than worth it."

That, Clint thought, was certainly true.

He called Beth in advance. She sounded delighted that he was finally going to visit, though she did warn him that Darcy had been in an unpredictable mood lately.

"It's hard to tell if she'll hug you or hit you," she told him, "and she's gotten very good with those nerf blasters – I'm fairly sure she's modifying them on the sly."

He started to apologise, but she cut him off, "I can't blame you for her personality, Clint. Sometimes she just likes to be a menace. But remember, she's a bright girl, so she'll understand if you want to try and explain things to her. I know most of its classified, but I'm sure you can think of something to tell her."

He sighed, "I'll be there in two hours. Could you, maybe … tell her. I just don't want to surprise her if it will upset her."

"It will be fine," Beth told him, "I mean, maybe not straight away, but Darcy loves you and she'll forgive you."

He hoped she was right. He really did.

At the farm, he greeted Beth briefly before heading upstairs to Darcy's room and knocking on the door tentatively.

Clint regularly jumped off buildings, dived out of the way of (and occasionally towards) explosions, and faced some of the most ruthless people on the planet. It was slightly ridiculous for him to be so scared of a child.

But this was his niece, the person he loved most in the world.

The girl he knew he had let down.

A minute passed with no response.

He knocked again, "Darce … Darce, are you in there?"

He heard the sound of footsteps and then the door swung open.

His niece glared up at him, her expression angry but her eyes sad.

"Can I come in?" he asked, "I wanted to talk to you."

She shrugged but didn't refuse. He took off his boots, followed her inside and they both sat down, cross-legged, opposite each other on her bed.

Darcy didn't say anything. Clint knew he should speak, but he was afraid he'd say the wrong thing, or that he'd make a joke when he should be serious.

Instead, his eyes darted around the room, landing on a corkboard full of photographs. There were lots of Darcy with her mom, and some with friends he knew from stories she'd told him. There were plenty of Clint as well, making ridiculous faces at the camera with Darcy, teaching her how the climb the huge tree in the backyard, and showing her some basic martial arts moves.

He knew his job would be easier if he had no ties, but he didn't think he could ever give this up. Family had never meant much when he was younger, but now it was a bright spot in a life that, while interesting, exciting and certainly allowing him to use his skills, also immersed him in the worst parts of humanity.

"I'm sorry, Darce," he said simply, "I'm truly sorry."

"Mom was really, really worried," Darcy said after a few moments, "she cried lots and lots."

Clint watched her carefully. Beth was fully aware that if anything serious ever happened to him, then Phil would let her know as soon as possible. She would have been worried, but not overly so – it was more likely that she was frustrated by his absence and how it would affect her daughter.

But Darcy … Darcy would have been worried. Darcy would possibly have cried at some point (and didn't that make him feel like an awful person).

And Darcy might not want him to know how scared she'd been.

He shuffled closer and looped an arm around her shoulder, glad when she relaxed somewhat and leaned against him.

"Did your mom think something bad had happened?"

Darcy nodded, "I … I mean, mom, thought you were hurt, or maybe …"

He cut her off before she could finish, because she'd started trembling, and damnit he couldn't believe he hadn't even called her.

"Hey, I'm fine, Darce, I promise. I was … sad, for a little while, and I didn't want to come here and make you and your mom sad too."

"You could have called," Darcy muttered.

"I know," he admitted, "but I didn't want to talk to anyone."

"You went to the shooting range a lot, huh?"

He nodded, "how'd you guess."

"It makes you calm," she said, "when you come and visit, and practice in the barn, you always look really peaceful."

"Observant, aren't you," he ruffled her hair with a slight smile.

They sat quietly there for a few minutes, until Darcy's voice broke the silence.

"Are you in the army, uncle Clint?"

He looked down at her curiously, "why do you think that?" he asked.

He'd never told Darcy anything about his work, just that it took him all over the world (explaining the various trinkets he sometimes brought back for her). Beth knew as much as he could tell her, but they'd agreed not to complicate things for Darcy by trying to explain a spy organisation to her.

"Well you go away for weeks or months," she explained, "and you travel everywhere. My friend Katie's dad has a job like that, and he's in the army."

Clint remembered what Beth had said, about Darcy being able to handle the truth, or at least some version of it.

"I'm in a special ops division of the army," he told her, "we do a lot of secret work, and sometimes it isn't very nice."

"You fight the bad guys," Darcy said, matter-of-factly.

"Yeah," he agreed, "that's basically it."

"And there was a really horrible bad guy?" she guessed, "did they scare you, uncle Clint?"

He nodded, expression tight, "a bit, Darce."

"They must have been really bad then, to scare you."

He huffed out a slight laugh, "yeah, Darce, I think you're right."

"But you're happy again now, aren't you?" she asked.

"Pretty happy to be back here," he smiled at her, "and to see you again."

"And you won't stay away for so long again, will you? You almost missed my birthday."

His smile widens at the indignation in her tone.

"I'm here for a whole week," he promised, "and I'll try and come back again soon after I leave."

She nodded, clearly accepting his answer.

"Now," he told her, "your mom tells me you've been making some adjustments to your blasters. Do you want to test them out with a real opponent?"

Her face broke into a delighted grin, and he was glad to see her happy again.

Glad that he could look at her without his memories making him flinch.

She pulled the box out from under her bed and handed one blaster to him. He examined it quickly and noted the improvements she'd made, which would certainly make their game more fun.

"Stay outside?" he suggested, "if we make a mess in the house then your mom will kill me."

She nodded her agreement, "best of three games?"

"You're on, Darce. Twenty seconds and we'll go."

She ran out of the room quickly and, from the sound of it, headed downstairs and towards the back door.

Clint took the quicker route out of her bedroom window and scanned the yard to find a good vantage spot.

He might be a world class shot, but Darcy was an expert at using nerf blasters.

Yes, he decided, as he heard a muffled sound and ducked out of the way just in time as Darcy took a shot.

This was just what he needed right now.

Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.