Safia

Safia watches the three kids playing.

Annette and Rayan throw snow at each other, peals of laughter filling the air as they run around. Carlos sits closer to her, quietly building a mini snowman.

They're acting like kids.

Safia doesn't feel like a kid.

She's seen snow once. Her mother had taken her to Switzerland for a photo shoot.

Everyone in her family used to tell her that she had inherited her mother's looks and nothing from her father. Safia didn't bother to ask her mom about her father, it wasn't worth the effort and she hated the way her mother would shut down emotionally whenever she mentioned him.

Beauty was something her mother had but brains definitely weren't.

What type of mother lingered on the ghost of a man who didn't love her rather than their own daughter?

Raza was nothing. He should've stayed nothing. But that's not what happened.

Her mother took her to Switzerland, left her in a hotel lobby on a snowy day and her father waltzed it right after.

Just like that.

Safia was old enough to ask questions but too young to fight back. Raza didn't like that. A part of her felt a vicious sense of victory as she saw how her questions irritated him.

Which is funny because Raza liked to talk. A lot. Especially about his favourite child, something that made her extremely uncomfortable.

She hoped so desperately that he would leave her in the lobby so that her mother would change her mind.

She doesn't remember much of her father's base. Matter of fact, that part is particularly hazy. She only remembered sitting in his study, watching him speak to his generals and then waking up three years later to her sister—no, half-sister—crying over her.

Safia dug her boots into the snow, hearing it crunch.

She slipped her gloves off, watching as little sparks danced along her palm and between her fingers. Safia hid this from her mother like she hid everything else.

If she really wanted to, she could shut down the country's power grid just by touching it.

She heard someone whistle behind her. "Having fun, kid?"

Clint Barton strolled out of the cabin, his bow in one hand and a mug in the other. Safia didn't trust him but he was better at entertaining the younger kids. All she could do was glare at them and hope they fell in line. (Spoiler, they didn't.)

"No," she muttered, slipping her gloves back on. "Not at all. It's cold. And I'm not a kid."

"Yeah, I don't like the snow either."

Maya was right behind Barton. Her hair was twisted into a messy bun and dark circles hung under her eyes. She looked exhausted and wane as if a strong breeze would knock her over.

How was she supposed to protect them?

Were the Avengers accepting anyone into their ranks these days?

Was this who Raza boasted to her about?

Safia got up and dusted the snow off her jeans. "You're awake," she stated. "I thought you were dead."

Maya's lips quirked up into a smile. "You sound disappointed."

She looked away pointedly, stuffing her hands into her pockets. "I guess that means you're our guardian now, huh?"

"Yeah. Looks like we're stuck together for now."

"Oh, Joy." 

Barton chuckled. "Cool it with the sarcasm, kiddo. We've already talked about this. It's the best option for everyone."

"Yeah," she scoffed. "Your option. You chose it for me."

"Last time I checked, you're a minor." He pointed out. Barton pushes his sunglasses up his nose. "And for the record, you're in good hands."

Safia wished she could believe it.

Everyone in her life had let her down one way or another.

This is no different.

Just because she was stuck here, didn't mean she had to accept it. Her mother always complained that she made life for others harder. Great, time to put that into practice.

If being a menace was an Olympic sport, she'd have gold.

Maya cleared her throat. "You should go inside. I'll keep an eye on the kids."

Safia didn't bother to answer, she brushed past the both of them and stalked towards the cabin.

Screw this!

And screw S.H.I.E.L.D. too!

—

Maya

"Well," I said, kicking the snow. "That went well."

Clint rolled his eyes. "Teenagers."

"Your eldest is giving you trouble already?"

He shrugged. "She's a preteen. She's getting there."

The kids eventually tire of playing. Annette and Rayan toddle over to me, their faces snotty and red. Carlos puts the final finishing touches on his army of small snowmen.

"Hungry?" I ask as the trio approaches me.

Rayan blinks up at me. "Chicken nuggets?"

Clint kneels, face level with him. "Those aren't very good for you. How about we save those for later?"

He crossed his arms over his chest, pouting. "Chicken nuggets."

Somehow we managed to wrangle the three of them inside. Clint works on making us dinner while I get the kids cleaned up.

Carlos is quiet. He takes off his coat and hangs it neatly on the coat rack, even his boots are placed away carefully. He's quieter compared to the rest. He just nodded when I asked him if he wanted something for dessert. 

Annette and Rayan are a different matter completely.

Rayan is a force of nature, bouncing around the walls—or flying in this case—as he takes off his coat and clothes before entering the bathroom.

Annette is more polite and easygoing. She helps me clean up the living room and chats with me excitedly. She accidentally turned her boots invisible which made it harder to find.

Safia...well, she doesn't answer me when I knock on her door. I just leave her alone knowing that she wants space.

By the time I make it to the dinner table, I'm half exhausted. Clint hums as he serves us dinner—a wonderful rotisserie chicken with a side of spaghetti.

The three of them descend on the chicken without mercy. Within 15 minutes, only the ribs are left. Clint and I exchange a glance.

Safia hasn't come out of her room yet but I put a place aside for her in case she gets hungry.

I managed to distract the kids with T.V. while Clint and I washed the dishes.

"They're a handful," I say, placing one of the plates on the rack. "You sure I'm cut out for this?"

"Meh, you'll learn."

"You know, I'm always so comforted by your words of wisdom," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

Clint flicks dishwater at me. "Why thank you very much. I'm here every day, 9 to 5."

"Alright. Calm down, Dolly Parton."

Annette and Rayan are asleep by the time we're done with the dishes. Carlos found his way to his room.

We carried them into their rooms and placed them gently down into their beds. Annette turns invisible as she curls into her blanket. Rayan is sprawled out like a puppy, snoring lightly.

I can't help but watch them for a while.

I leaned against the door frame as Clint locked the windows.

Their little chests move up and down slowly, proof that they're still alive. I close my eyes and listen the their heartbeats, familiarizing myself with them.

Annette has a heartbeat like a beating drum. Rayan's heart is like the flapping of a hummingbird's wing. Carlos is strong, beating hard. Safia has a unique heartbeat, sometimes it slows down and sometimes it speeds up.

She must still be awake.

I don't dare to talk to her yet.

Clint leaves an hour later. A part of me doesn't want him to go. I feel safer with him around. I don't say any of this out loud.

"Stop worrying so much," he says, pulling on his snow boot. "One of us will come in to check in on you every two weeks. The kids all have papers and documentation so sending them to a local school won't be that hard. Plus, who's going to touch them when you're protecting them."

All valid points.

I didn't know why this anxiety settled over me uncomfortably.

"Anything else?"

"Oh, yeah." He gets up, strapping his gear to his back. "Good luck."