If That Mockingbird Don't Sing (Marvel MCU Fanfiction)

[Pietro BlaXimoff]

CREDIT TO: Angelt626

Chapter 1: What To Do When Your Home Is Going to Be Invaded

“You can call me anytime. I’ll put you on hold. I like to watch the line blink.”

General Ross scoffed as he watched Tony Stark get into his helicopter and fly off before spinning on his heel and going back to the surveillance room. Stark might not have realized it, but he’d given him some valuable information and he had every intention of using it to the fullest extent possible. If Stark wasn’t going to be straight with him, maybe Barton would be. A tablet was back in his hand before he could ask for it, and he quickly pulled up any and all information they had on the prisoner he had in mind. Full statistics were listed first in order of importance, followed by information that was still pertinent but deemed as less important. There wasn’t anything about him being married, which made Ross frown as he thought. ‘Why aren’t his wife and kids listed in his file?’ An ancillary file showed, but everything in it was redacted...except for the locations of a couple safehouses and the fact that Barton did have a wife and children, but not their names or any information on them. And who knew if they were even at either of the listed locations. Ross thanked the soldier who’d handed him the gadget and departed, heading towards the cell block where the men who had fought by Rogers’ side were being detained.
 
He keyed in his personal access code and entered the prisoner chamber, making his way over to Hawkeye’s cell and rapping on the window, the sound echoing through the room. Clint looked up immediately from where he was lying prone on the cot before rolling his eyes. “What do you want, Ross? Come to gloat?”

“No, not today, I’m afraid. I came to see if you had any knowledge on where Captain Rogers was heading.”

That caused the archer to sit up and lean against the wall, a derisive look on his face. “God, you must be stupid. I mean, I knew you weren’t a genius, but this is a whole brand new level I’m seeing here! You really think I’d tell you where Steve and Robo-boy are going? Wow. Even if I did know, there’s not a snowball’s chance in Hell that I’d tell you,” Clint scoffed.

“Even if it meant keeping your wife and children that Stark mentioned safe?” Thaddeus retorted, watching as a muscle ticked in the other man’s jaw.

“I don’t have a wife and kids. Stark was lying.”

“Really? I have a file here on you that says differently. Confirmation that you do have a wife and children. No names, though, surprisingly. Although I’d wager a guess that that’s former SHIELD Director Nick Fury’s doing, hmm? He’s the only one with clearance previously high enough to hide something that important. No matter. Where are Rogers and Barnes going? Tell me, and I could make your stay here less….uncomfortable,” he reasoned.

Clint rose lithely to his feet and made his way over to the door, propping an arm against it. “That conversation include my friends and I getting out of here, General? Because that I might just listen to. Not like we really did anything we weren’t supposed to do, so we really shouldn’t be in here. There wasn’t any going anywhere we shouldn’t have, no heroing that we weren’t allowed to do. We just got into a little tussle, that’s all.”

His question was met with a soft chuckle. “You know that’s not going to happen, Mr. Barton. Even if I could offer that, which I could see about and obtain the right to, I won’t. You went directly against the Accords, and that’s not something the world is prepared to stand for.”

“Then I guess you’re shit outta luck and wasting both your time and mine, so why don’t you let me get back to the good times of staring at the ceiling wondering when I’m getting out of here. And frankly, even if you were to get us out of here, I still wouldn’t tell you where Steve is heading. You don’t stab your friends in the back, something you and Stark never learned.”

“You’re being awfully assumptive with your use of the word when and not if.”

Clint snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “For starters, the word assume? Not the best choice, considering I don’t need to make you look like even more of an ass, you’re doing that on your own. And second? There isn’t any question of “if” I’m getting out of here. I knew what I was saying when I said it.”

“Are you implying that there’s a plan to rescue you? Look around you, you have no hopes of getting out of here unless I let you out,” Ross replies firmly.

“Says you.”

“I’m surprised at you, Barton. You have a wife and children, why not do whatever it takes to protect them? That’s not being much of a father or a husband,” the older man goads, curious to see if that would get anything out of the blonde man.

“You want to go after them? That’s your choice, but I wouldn’t recommend it. Not only will you regret it, but once I’m outta here, I’ll make sure you do. And you won’t like how,” Clint replied, his voice and gaze colder than ice.

“Are you threatening me, Mr. Barton? That’s not wise.”

“Nope, it’s a promise. See, I know your type well enough. A smart guy wouldn’t go after a prisoner’s wife and children, but you’re an asshat and stupid enough to do that. So go, just don’t say I didn’t warn ya about the consequences,” he said with a wave of his hand, dismissing Ross flippantly, a smirk on his lips.

The general huffed in impatience and left the cell block, the door banging harshly behind him. He missed seeing the look on Clint’s face and his head bowing with his eyes shut, lips moving silently in a prayer.

“He here for what I think he was here for?” Sam called out.

“Yep, no surprise there.”

“Doesn't sound like you gave him anything.”

“Hell no. Ross can kiss my ass or try and kick it all he wants, not gonna sell out Steve. Besides, pissing him off was a bonus. And fun, too,” Clint snickered.

Sam could be heard chuckling softly. “Think he'll go looking?”

“He might. That's his choice if he does, and it won't go well for him if he chooses to. Know what I mean?”

“Oh yeah. I'd pay money to see it.”

“You and me both, man. You and me both.”

General Ross strode through the corridors to his office, his boots pounding with every footstep. It took him two tries to key in the code before he slammed the door shut behind him, the sound echoing through the metal walls.

“God damn it, Barton, you son of a bitch!” he growled, as he grabbed the decanter of whiskey and poured himself a small amount. It was gone before he’d even realized he was drinking it. So much for the archer being the key to finding out where Rogers was….

His gaze fell on the tablet that still had the files pulled up, making him frown as he read the list of missions and operations his captive had been on before he’d “Retired”. The thought made him snort; no vigilante ever really retired, not unless forced to. Flicking through the file, he stopped when he reached the segment on the Ultron incident, opening the mission report.

“Gone off the reservation for over a day. Where did you go, hmm?” Hawkeye had been a pilot during that fiasco, so where did he fly them all to? All flightcraft were required to register their flight pattern at some point on their journey, unless it was top-secret. And even if Barton hadn’t filed the paperwork, there was always satellite imagery. He considered handing the menial work over to someone, but thought better of it. There was no telling who was actually on his side and who was not. That was a chance he couldn’t take, not at the moment when he needed all hands on deck.

After plenty of research, over six hours worth of work, and several favors being called in for the information he needed, Thaddeus Ross leaned back with a pleased smile. He had been right, after all. Flight pattern reports hadn’t been filed, but satellite imagery had shown a Quinjet leaving from New York City and flying to a remote location several hours before stopping for just under twenty-four hours. It had then moved on from there to its next destination. What interested him more were the pictures taken of where the jet had landed near: an old nineteenth century farmhouse, replete with a barn and plenty of land. The fact that it showed Barton and a woman kissing each other and hugging children (the fact that he had no idea who she was irked him), that was the topping on the cake. “I’ve got the thread now, Barton, and we’re not done yet.” His deskphone was in his hand and dialing a number before he could think twice of what he was about to do.

“General Ross?”

“Assemble a team. We’re headed to New York. And Davidson?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t talk to anyone about this, save for the team. Need to know basis only. Am I understood?”

“Of course, sir.”

Forty-eight hours later-

Bobbi made her way through the old farmhouse, double checking the few hidden caches of hidden weapons while the kids were outside playing. It never hurt to be prepared; she knew that from experience. One in the hall closet was fully stocked, as was the one in the pantry hidden under a floorboard. The third, however, had a gun that required a quick refill on bullets which only took her a few seconds to do before stowing it.

She made her way into the kitchen, intending to clear up from lunch, when her phone buzzed. A quick glance at it told her the first proximity alert three miles out had been tripped; someone was heading to the farm, several someones if the data was to be believed. Bobbi grabbed a tablet and pulled up an app, watching a few seconds worth of video.

“Who are you? Come on, come on, come on, give me something to work with here,” she muttered to herself, eyes scanning the screen. An alert pinging in the corner caught her attention; facial recognition had picked up that one of the people headed her way was General Thaddeus Ross. “What in the fuck?” Her heart beat furiously in her chest as she wondered why he would be coming to see her; not just out in the middle of nowhere, but unannounced to boot. And why would he be coming here? She and Clint had made damn sure that her being his wife wasn’t on public record, same as the farm. As far as anyone was concerned, they either thought that a woman named Laura Barton was his wife (which was a complete lie, she was just a former SHIELD desk agent) or that he was a bachelor.

Her mind whirled with the events of the last few days; Clint getting Cap’s phone call, her telling him he should go. She’d heard on the news that there had been a fight in Berlin, but that Steve and Barnes had gotten away. “It doesn’t make any sense.” Unless, somehow, Ross had found out that Clint had a family and found out the location of the farm. “That’s the only thing that would make sense, but if he thinks I’m giving him anything, he’s out of his goddamned mind.”

Crossing quickly to the door, she waved for the kids to come in before she checked the windows and doors, making sure that they were all locked up. She made her way to a locked closet and leaning against it heavily, she took several deep breaths. She was a little rusty when it came to field work, not that this wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle on her own. Internally, she was wishing Clint was there with her, if only for backup, but there wasn’t anything she could do about that. This was the last thing she wanted to be doing right now; so much for getting to have a normal day, which was about to be shot to hell now. She tapped in the code to unlock the door and began doing inventory on weapons. “Batons, guns, knives, all of the above,” she mutters with a grim nod, changing quickly into her tacsuit. The front door banged open, startling her and making her stick her head out, her body tense.

“What’s wrong, Mom?” asks Francis, a frown on his face at the sight of her.

Bobbi sighed and began grabbing her weapons, slotting them in their proper places before she faces him fully. “We have visitors coming, and I don’t know if they’re nice ones or not.”

“What do you need us to do?”

“I need you to take your sisters and go down to the panic room, the one your dad and I showed you a few times, and stay there. Do you remember where I’m talking about?” She crouches down so she’s eye level with her kids, a reassuring smile on her lips even as her heart shattered in pieces to have to be discussing this. ‘God damn you, Ross, you sonofabitch, for making me have to do this.’

Francis nods slowly, and she can see the wheels turning in his head as he remembers. “Yeah, I do. But we wanna stay with you.” His sisters both nod furiously in agreement.

“I know you do, sweetie, and Mommy doesn’t want you three to have to go down there, but the people that are coming here? They might not be good people, and I don’t want any of you to get hurt. Now, when you get down there, what do you do?”

“Lock the door behind us, and no coming out.”

“And if someone bad tries to stop you?”

“Make ‘em s-i-n-g, like you taught me, until I can run again,” he replies softly.

“Good. What if it’s Mommy or Daddy knocking on the door, saying it’s okay to come out?”

“We can’t, not unless you say the magic words!” Lily, the oldest girl, piped up with a proud smile.

“That’s right, baby girl. What are they?”

“Faint hearts never won fair lady,” the youngest, Margaret, although they all called her Maggie, replied with a beaming grin.

Bobbi kissed each of them and hugged all three of them close before handing Francis a burner phone, blinking back tears. This wasn’t the time or the place for that, not until she knew more and her kids were safe beyond a shadow of a doubt. “If Mommy doesn’t come back, or we get separated, what do you do?”

“Call Auntie Tasha and tell her we’re in trouble. If she doesn’t answer, then call Uncle Steve.”

“Normally, yes, but keep trying to call Aunt Natasha. She’ll pick up for sure, although I hope you won’t have to call her,” Bobbi advised them firmly, noticing that Francis was biting his lip nervously.

“Mommy, do we have to?” Lily asked.

Bobbi smiles sadly as she smoothes her daughter’s blonde hair back. “Yeah, honey, you do. I don’t like it anymore than you do, but it’s the only way you’re gonna be safe until Mommy knows who’s coming here. Both of you girls, be good and stay with your brother, okay?” She waits till she’s gotten nods from them both before nodding. “You two head downstairs, Francis will be right behind you in a minute.”

Lily and Maggie hug her again before doing as they’re told, holding hands as they make their way to the basement and making Bobbi’s heart clench painfully in her chest as she watches them. She turns back to face Francis with a comforting smile on her face. “You okay, little man?”

A head shake is her only answer.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, even though she believes she already knows what the response will be.

“I’m scared,” he finally chokes out, his eyes filled with tears.

It takes all Bobbi has to not rescind her previous orders; the Agent Nineteen part of her knows better than that. While she would protect her children to her dying breath, she would be able to move faster and quicker if she didn’t have to worry about physically protecting them. Instead of saying what she so desperately wants to, Bobbi tugs him close to her and wraps him in a firm hug, inhaling his scent. ‘He is why you’re doing this, him and your two daughters,’ she reminds herself. Pulling away, she brushes at the twin tracks that were on her oldest child’s cheeks. “I know you’re scared, kiddo, but you want to know something?”

“Whassat?”

“I think your daddy would be so proud of you, and how brave you’re being. You’re doing such a good job, you know that?” Bobbi pets his cheek as she looks at him, amazed at how much like Clint he is.

“Don’t feel like I am.”

“It’s okay to feel that way, and to be scared, too. Mommy’s kinda scared right now, also,” Bobbi told him softly.

“Really?”

“Yup, but don’t tell your sisters, okay? Promise me.”

“I won’t! Cross my heart and hope to die,” Francis swears.

“Where did you learn that?”

“Ummm…..”

“Let me guess: your dad?”

Francis nods slowly, all the while looking like she’d caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. Bobbi shakes her head before kissing his hair. “It’s okay, buddy. Just keep being brave for me and for your sisters, okay? They need to know they can count on you.”

“I will, I promise.”

“Good, now go on.” Bobbi pushes him in the direction of the basement, watching him for a moment as he walks away from her, his back and shoulders straight, before locking the door behind him. ‘God, if you do exist and you’re listening, please keep them safe till I can again.’

She picks up the tablet again and looks at the latest alert, which says that they’re nearly there. “Let the games begin.” Bobbi grabs a case from the supply closet before making her way upstairs to the second level of the house. She feels herself fall away as Mockingbird moves forward, her nervousness fading off. A deep breath expels itself from her lungs as she carefully peers out of the curtains of the guest bedroom, which happens to face the front of the house and the road.

Nothing yet, but she knows it won’t be long.

Mockingbird opens the case, removes the compound bow, flicks it open, adds the scope to it, tosses the quiver of arrows over her right shoulder. While archery wasn’t her area of specialty and her preference was to hit first and ask questions later, it was the best option for now: it would give her the ability to both sight and take out the enemy with little to no sound. She makes a mental note to remind herself to thank Clint when they see each other again how grateful she is that he insisted that they buy this house. There are multiple windows on each side, making it perfect for letting in plenty of light, air…..consequently giving her the best view in every direction of any threats. She sees the dust clouds kicking up from the dirt road before she sights the vehicles as they encroach further on her property. A moment later, it’s two large black SUVs that pull up, an eight man grab team that disembarks from them, Ross in the front and the leader just behind him.

The group of men confuses Bobbi for a minute, until the realization hits her like a ton of bricks. He’d brought them with the intention of abducting whoever was there with the intention of using them against Clint for any information possible, which meant that the good General has no idea as to who’s really here. Or he’d have brought more troops, not that it would have mattered...much. A bit rusty she might be, but she still practiced as much as she could, at least two to three times a week, more if she could manage it. Her eyes focus on the leader who gave the command for the men to split up and surround the large farmhouse, making her grin. She had her children to protect, and she would, but this? This was going to be fun, more than she’d had in awhile.

“Let’s play, fellas.”