Marvel Imagines and One-shots (Requests Closed)

Not Again - Clint Barton

A/N: I feel like I should put a disclaimer. This was for a challenge on tumblr. My prompt was "did you bury something in the garden? A body." Reader is an agent/former agent with SHIELD who married Clint and occasionally their happy farm gets discovered by the bad guys. 

***

Clint sighed in relief as he stepped out of the jet he'd 'borrowed' to come home for a visit. He liked flying, but the trip home always seemed the longest. His brow furrowed as he approached the house and took in the area around it. The backhoe was out of the barn and near the garden. You'd obviously been doing some digging. And the fact you didn't come out to meet him was unusual. He hoped everything was all right.

"Y/N?" he called as he opened the door of the house.

"In the bedroom," you yelled back.

He followed the sound of your voice to your room, stopping in the doorway to just appreciate the view. You were laid diagonally across the bed on your stomach, arms folded under your head. Your eyes were closed but you smiled as he leaned against the doorframe.

"You okay, babe?" His eyes ran over you looking for any sign of injury.

You hummed low in your throat. "Just tired."

He tilted his head and the corner of his mouth kicked up in a smile. He loved the sleepy, sedentary version of you. Hell, he loved every version of you but this was one of the few where he was offered the opportunity to just enjoy looking at you. "Sweetheart," he finally said breaking the silence, "did you bury something in the garden?"

You cracked open an eye to glare at him as you scrunched up your face. "A body."

He scowled and pushed himself out of the doorway to settle on the bed near your head. "Again?"

Rolling over onto your back, you huffed out a sigh. "I'm not real happy with Nick Fury at the moment, Barton."

Clint's lips twitched as he pushed some loose hair away from your face, his fingers ghosting over your skin. He paused as he caught sight of the bruising near your right temple. Taking your chin in his hand, he turned your head to the side. Worried eyes took in the injury and you couldn't help but smile. "What's this?"

"That would be a bruise from where I got kicked in the head."

"Damn it, Y/N. Have you at least had that looked at?"

He ran his fingers over the injury and you couldn't help but wince slightly from the light pain. "I can't get Fury's cleaners out here and you think the doc made it? Not likely."

He scowled as he pulled out his phone and dialed Fury's direct line. He put it on speaker phone.

"Barton. What can I do for you?" Fury's deep voice came over the line.

Clint leaned forward with his elbow on his knee and the phone out in front of him. "When I left my new house and my new wife, you assured me that I wouldn't have to worry about anything."

"And what exactly has you concerned, Agent?"

"Y/N has called for cleaners twice—"

"Three times," you corrected him and he narrowed his eyes in question. He was certain he'd only been told of one incident other than this one. You gave him a cockeyed grin and little shrug.

He shook his head and returned to his call. "Okay. Three times. They never show."

There was a long pause. "Are you certain?"

"If we put any more bodies in our garden, it's going to have to be reclassified as a cemetery, Fury," you piped up.

"Motherfuckers." His voice was little more than a growl and you pressed the back of your hand against your mouth to keep from snickering. "Give me a minute."

You could hear him pounding away on the keys in the background. "Holy shit. How many people do have buried in there? It looks like eleven? And two, no three, dogs?"

Apparently, he had redirected a thermal satellite to check out your property. "Probably more dogs than that. The second group had a pack with them it felt like."

"What the hell is going on out there in the middle of nowhere, Barton?" Fury demanded. "I thought you said it was peaceful."

"It is when people aren't trying to kill my wife." Clint raked a hand through his hair. You had most assuredly not told him about the dogs.

"I'm looking in the system right now. It records three call outs to your location and cleaners being dispatched all three times."

"I'm telling you, no one ever showed up."

He sighed. "Looks like it was the same crew all three times. Let me pull up the notes. Responded to 1347 Buchanan. No agent or bodies present. Cleaned large amount of blood and bodily fluids from kitchen surfaces. Almost verbatim for the following two responses. Is there a reason you kill everyone in your kitchen, Y/N?"

Clint glanced at you to find your eyes covered with your hand while you laughed quietly. "You want to repeat that address?" you finally managed to ask.

Clint's eyes widened in realization. "We're 1337," he told Fury.

The director went off on a tirade that was crude even for him. "I'll get it taken care of," he finally barked and ended the call.

Clint tossed the phone beside him on the bed. He laid down so his head was toward your feet and vice versa. A large hand settled on your thigh making you smile. The two of you laid that for several minutes before he spoke. "You didn't tell me about the dogs."

"That was while you were in Buhdapest. With everything that happened I forgot by the time you came back."

He grunted in understanding and you fell back into silence, just enjoying each other's company. Finally, though you couldn't ignore your thoughts any longer. "Clint?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"Why do you suppose our neighbor's kitchen is always covered in blood?"

He sighed. "We should probably look into that, huh?"

"Probably," you agreed.

Another few minutes passed and the bed began to shake as Clint laughed.

"What?"

"Can you imagine them coming back from wherever they'd been and the kitchen being spotless with no other sign of anyone having been there?"

You took a moment topicture the scene in your head before joining your husband in his laughter.