Author's Note: After a long break, in which I studied for and passed (!) some truly horrible awful graduate school exams, I'm back. Thank you all for waiting after I left you on a cliffhanger! I hope the payoff will be worth it. Thanks, as always, to my amazing betas, Jade and Majoline, for their comments and encouragement during the loooooong break.

"Daddy, is Madison coming to my party? Or Ashley? Or Hunter, though it's okay if he doesn't come."

Loki looked up from his food preparation. Once he'd bested foes with his knives and his cunning, now he used them in hopes of getting Kara to eat her vegetables. Carrot and jicama crinkle fries, radish flowers.

Well, if he was reduced to such menial work, then at least their lunches were the envy of the break room and the cafeteria. No sense in doing it poorly. He tucked away their treats into their respective containers: a rather stylish bento for him, and her beloved if slightly battered Captain America lunchbox.

"Madison and Ashley, yes. Hunter, I don't know, because his parents refuse to acknowledge deadlines as meaningful things."

Loki would be entertaining Kara, all eleven of her fellow Daisies, five classmates (four if a certain set of parents would adhere to basic social protocols), Miriam and her brood, and the self-named J Hood Wright Playground Posse - a joke of Stephen's that had considerable staying power.

"There will be tea, cake, dinosaur hats and wings enough for everyone." It gave Loki no small amount of pride that Kara had chosen Alice's Tea Cup for her party, but had insisted everyone come as a dinosaur.

One thing the party would not have was enough Asgardian mead to make its far too many guests tolerable, but there were three bottles of an especially fine, especially strong port that would have to serve as a post-party relaxation measure.

"What about the Avengers?"

Loki restrained from crushing Kara's Captain America thermos as he slipped it and her lunch box into her sparkling blue star-spangled backpack. "They said they would try to come. But they might have to go off and save the world." He rolled his eyes. "We can only hope."

"So they might all come," Kara said.

"If we're only so lucky." Loki tugged Kara into her jacket, then wrestled her puffy-jacket-clad arms into the straps of her backpack. "Do you have your homework?"

"Yes."

"And the first pair of many gloves I'll have to replace?"

"Yessssss."

"Well then. Shall we go?"

"Yeah!"

Loki smiled and leaned down to take her hand. He looked to the apartment, toys strewn across the living room, his mug full of lukewarm darjeeling still on the counter by Kara's bright green T-Rex cup. A matter of days more, and this life would be gone, and he and Kara would be away from Doom's violence, SHIELD's threat, and Asgard's prying eyes. He should be feeling nothing but an impending sense of triumph.

Damn the wiles of dinosaurs and tea, and his little girl's unabashed love for a world with them, for any momentary pang of regret.

Clint drew his collar up against the wind, a bitter breeze out of the north that rustled through the color-dappled trees below. But he wasn't watching the foliage. He was watching Loki, putting on his little act, and the girl holding his hand, who had no idea how much danger she was in. Or what her so-called father had done.

"Didn't take you for someone who watched the sun rise," said a voice behind him. Clint groaned and turned, finding a bemused Tasha holding an outstretched cup of coffee. "Should have known this was where you were."

"You could have called. Or at least texted," he said, taking the cup with an appreciative grunt. "And I didn't need help." He took a sip, felt at least five degrees warmer. "Okay, I needed the coffee."

Tasha shook her head as she glimpsed down below. Damnit it, why couldn't Loki just cross whatever line Tony was waiting for him to cross. Take himself out of the game, so Clint didn't have to even bother?

"Clint, we could just keep an eye on her, wait for Doom to finally get it right and take him out-"

"And what if he doesn't? We wait for Loki to piss off another supervillain? Hope he screws up enough, again, and takes out who knows how many people with him? That's crap and you know it."

"Tony can't keep this secret forever. We make sure Fury or Hill find out. I just - I don't want you doing whatever you're doing alone," Tasha said. She would follow him to hell and back, but this time he wasn't giving her the choice. "It's still gods and monsters."

"I still remember what it was like, having him in my head. How easy it was, shooting Fury, taking down who knows how many people on the Helicarrier...and you." Clint turned, offering her a smile that had no joy, no mirth, only a guilt that no amount of time would ever erase. Clint would die with that guilt.

So if that guilt ended a little sooner rather than later, Clint could live with it. Or die with it. Whatever.

"I know." Tasha sighed, her gaze fixed on him like Clint was her target, not her lover. "I hear it when you sleep, and trust me, if there's ever a day I can kill that guy I would, except I'd give you the pleasure first. But maybe...maybe we just have to settle for being patient. For being realistic."

"Or we can cheer Doom on for a while," Clint said sardonically, sipping at his coffee. "Loki must have screwed him over something good to be on his shit list."

"And you're surprised how?" Tasha grinned, the breeze blowing through her hair. She leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. "Don't stay too long," she says as she slowly rose to her feet.

"We have another mission?"

"No."

"Like you're going to stay in bed all morning."

"I might if I had the company." Clint offered her a crooked smile. She snorted, but finally turned and was gone.

Three more days, damn it. Then he gave Doom enough to find Loki and got Kara somewhere safe, and this farce was over. Done.

Clint shuddered in a sudden cold breeze, his collar not nearly thick or high enough to keep the hairs beneath from standing on end. Taking a sip of coffee - damned fitting Nat brought bitter warmth - he saw two crows, turning in slow spirals. What was that supposed to mean? The Romans used to split the sky, and decide if something was worth doing if the birds flew on the right. Clint held out his cup, left of the whirling, cawing shapes, silhouetted against the pale morning light.

There. Easy enough to take care of fate.