Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works.

Author's Note: While I embrace constructive criticism, remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"

Holy crap, I'm still alive! I know I've been gone a while and I'm so sorry! But I have a REALLY good excuse! My husband and I found out over Christmas that we will be blessed with our first baby in August! So I'm SUPER excited and have been majorly distracted for the last SEVERAL weeks :) Just ask Kylen, it took me forever to get back to writing. But I AM back and I'm working furiously on Cairo! And if you ask me, it's looking GOOD so far :D If I have any Cairo dwelling or visiting readers out there, I'd love to use you as a source about the area so I can be as accurate as possible! Thanks!

For those of you that don't know - this IS part of a series, but can actually be enjoyed on its own.

On another note, I've welcomed another beta-reader to my little Vantage Point Universe...everybody put your hands together for JRBarton, who is now acting as a second beta-reader and a third set of eyes on all outgoing VP stories! Yay JRBarton! Thank you for your help!

Kylen is still still sticking around though and she is still my main girl :D So as usual, huge thanks to her for her help as a beta-reader and a sounding board for ideas. She's awesome! And SPEAKING of Kylen...she is working hard on her own Clint universe and is putting out a call for anyone that has been to or lived in Riga, Latvia! She needs a local source for a story! So if you can help her out, send her a PM!

And now...without further ado...the first installment of the Many Happy Returns Series and the celebration of Clint's 19th birthday...ENJOY!

Maturity has more to do with what types of experiences you've had, and what you've learned from them, and less to do with how many birthdays you've celebrated.
Unknown

Clint woke suddenly, consciousness returning in a rush and his focus zeroing intently on what had woken him. He didn't open his eyes, didn't move a muscle. He just listened and used his senses to assess the room for a threat.

Movement – out in the main part of the safe house.

Clint opened his eyes, shifting them to the other cot in the small bunkroom – a bed he already sensed was empty. His instinct confirmed, Clint turned his focus to the door. A door that had been closed when he'd gone to sleep, but that was now cracked open.

Another sound from beyond the door drew his attention. For a moment he laid there, his entire body as tense as his bowstring. Then slowly, he realized what he was hearing – who he was hearing.

Phil.

Phil making coffee.

One by one, he felt his muscles relax, the surge of defensive adrenaline slower to leave than it had been to come. It still caught him by surprise sometimes – having someone around all the time. Phil's presence around him grew more familiar by the day, but sometimes, he still forgot that he wasn't on his own anymore.

Sometimes he still nearly drew a weapon when he came into a safe house late at night and sensed another person inside. His instincts usually caught back up with reality before an arrow cleared his quiver, but on more than one occasion, he'd ended up sighting down an arrow shaft at a startled Phil Coulson.

That had gotten progressively more embarrassing as time went by.

And God forbid Phil make a noise nearby while he was sleeping – because then whatever weapon he had tucked under his pillow was usually brought to bear within the next heartbeat. The first time that had happened, Phil had drawn his own weapon and they'd blinked at each other in wary confusion for several seconds.

A soldier in the trenches – that's what Phil called it. Apparently Clint slept like a soldier in the trenches. Never mind that he'd only been a soldier for a year and that in that time he'd never slept in an actual "trench". Slept in a tree? Yes. Slept in the abandoned ruins of a demolished building? Yes. Slept on the edge of a cliff covered up by camouflage? Yes.

Slept in a trench? No.

But then again this wasn't the 1910's and this wasn't World War I, so maybe the phrase was outdated.

Though, "slept like a soldier in a tree" didn't quite have the same ring to it.

Clint sighed and shook his head, stretching his arms out and then up. A contended sigh slid out as oxygen made its way through his bloodstream and his muscles drank it in. He actually felt fairly refreshed – rested even. It wasn't often that he slept through the entire night – even less often that he managed to sleep the night before a hit – and he wasn't one to take the gift for granted.

Plus he'd been so damned tired from a week straight of nightmares, his body had practically been shutting down when Phil finally talked him into calling it a night at the embarrassingly early hour of 8pm.

Curious, he brought his arm around, checking his watch to see how long he'd slept.

Damn.

Fourteen straight hours.

As he stared at his watch face in surprised awe, something else on the display caught his attention.

The date.

April 25th.

Holy shit.

It was his birthday.

He slowly lowered his wrist, staring intensely at the ceiling. His birthday. He hadn't celebrated – had barely even given thought – to the day in the past three years. He hadn't wanted to.

He'd turned sixteen barely four months after getting stabbed in the chest by his brother. Kara and Brit had tried, but they hadn't been able to convince him to celebrate when at the time all he wanted to do was die. Anger, pain, betrayal – those had been all that occupied his mind back then. Tossing sixteen candles on a cake and pretending he was actually happy he was still alive? He'd told Brit – in as many words – that it wasn't going to happen.

He'd turned seventeen two days into his short stint in military prison. The day had come and gone with nothing more than a passing thought. Escape had already been the only thing on his mind at that point. His birthday couldn't have mattered any less.

His eighteenth? That one had been rougher. He'd been just under a year into his tenure as a contract assassin – less than two months away from a fateful meeting in an alley in Austria.

He'd been darkness.

He'd been anger.

He had marked that day with a reckless hand-to-hand scuffle with a security team that he very nearly hadn't walked away from. And as he'd stitched himself up, dug the broken tip of a knife out of his calf, and nursed a wicked concussion, he'd silently wished he'd died in the mud and the rain with a different knife still buried in his chest.

Clint shook his head.

Was now really all that different? He still killed – was planning to carry out a hit today, in fact – all that had changed was his motivation. It wasn't about money anymore. It was about redemption. But he knew that his list of sins was long and his road to redemption was more likely leading him straight to hell.

Was he better than he had been a year ago?

He wasn't so sure.

It was that uncertainty that had him scowling and pushing away any thoughts of acknowledging what this day meant. Nineteen years ago he'd been born, and in those nineteen years he'd done more evil in the world than good.

Who the hell would want to celebrate that?

Clint sighed and rolled off the bed, pushing away his blanket and reaching for the black cargos he'd tossed onto the floor last night.

Phil hadn't mentioned anything lately to indicate he knew what today was, but that didn't, by any stretch, mean he didn't know. Whether he cared or not? That was the real question.

Clint didn't even care – or at least had convinced himself he didn't – so he doubted Phil did either.

With another sigh, he jerked his boots on and reached for his jacket. He had a sudden urge to be out running across rooftops, breathing in salty air of the Laguna Veneta. He could lose himself in parkour for a while and then head across Venice to do his final recon.

That definitely seemed more appealing than facing Phil. Than facing the truth about whether or not Phil cared about today. Than having to decide if that truth mattered to him or not.

Avoidance – definitely the better option.

Clint reached for his quiver and strapped it into place.

He blew out a breath and strode to the door, pulling it open and moving out into the main area.

Phil looked up at him immediately.

"Morning, kid. I—"

Clint kept moving, heading for the balcony door and the drainpipe to the roof that lay beyond it.

"I'm gonna go do some recon. I'll check in when I get there."

"Clint—"

Clint tuned him out and stepped out onto the balcony, bracing his boot on the rail and reaching for the drainpipe. He heard Phil call his name once more as he climbed quickly up and took off across the roof.

"Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you!"

Clint pulled his head out from under his blanket and squinted blearily at the entrance to the tent he shared with Barney – who was usually gone more than he was here. With the way his older brother's temperament had been lately, that was definitely a good thing.

Clint arched a curious eyebrow at the flickering flame he saw hovering above something that looked suspiciously like a cupcake.

"Happy Birthday, dear Cli-int!"

Kara continued her solo serenade as she crawled onto the foot of his cot and proceeded to sit cross-legged. Brit, candle-laden cupcake in hand, sat next to Clint's hip, one hand cupped carefully around the flame.

"Happy Birthday to you!"

Kara leaned forward, pulling Clint – who had only really halfway committed to sitting up – the rest of the way up and planting a kiss on his cheek.

"Happy Birthday, sweetie!" She smiled warmly and ruffled his hair.

Clint rolled his eyes, but couldn't quite manage to keep the affectionate grin off his face.

"You know," he shifted his hands, moving them as he spoke so Brit could follow the conversation, "I'm a little old for candles and cupcakes."

Brit's eyes widened in mocking surprise.

"Fifteen is too old?" He shifted the cupcake closer to himself. "I guess, I should just eat this then."

He opened his mouth like he was preparing to blow out the candle.

"Now, now…" Clint's hand shot forward and he all but snatched the cupcake away. "Let's not go making any rash decisions. You did go to all this trouble."

Brit and Kara exchanged a look that was part triumphant and part knowing.

"Make a wish." Kara instructed with a smile.

Clint rolled his eyes, but obediently closed his eyes – thinking.

Finally he decided on the perfect wish. Just to humor Kara and Brit of course – in no way because he bought into the whole 'making a wish' thing.

With a smirk, he opened his eyes and blew out the candle.

He arched an eyebrow at his friends.

"Happy now?"

Kara smiled brilliantly.

"Very!" she plucked the candle out of the cupcake and proceeded to lick the icing off the end.

Clint didn't waste the energy it would take to protest. He had hardly expected any different anyway. With an eye roll – that was full of more affection for his surrogate sister than anything else – he raised the cupcake towards his mouth.

He really should have seen it coming.

One second, the icing was an inch from his face. The next, it was smashing into his mouth and nose with surprising intensity.

Clint sputtered, sending bits of icing and crumbled cupcake spraying, and turned his wide-eyed glare on Brit.

The hysterical laughter was so not necessary.

Without another thought, Clint wiped his hand across his face, curling his fingers to gather as much icing as he could. And then he dove at Brit, smearing the icing across his face before he could react.

Brit turned instinctively in defense, unable to dodge the icing. But he did manage to pull Clint off the cot and roll him to the floor before he could do any more damage than that.

Clint could hardly breathe around the fit of laughter that had taken over him as he lay on his back on the ground.

He raised a shaking hand to point at Brit.

"You look ridiculous."

Brit glared good-naturedly.

"I look ridiculous? Check the mirror, Cake Face."

For some reason, that had laughter bubbling up in his chest again.

He was just managing to get to his hands and knees when his tent flap suddenly snapped aside, drawing his and Kara's attention immediately. Brit's gaze followed a moment later, as soon as he noticed both of their eyes diverting.

Barney stood just inside the doorway, glaring at all of them for a moment.

"Barney…" Clint wasn't sure what he meant to say, but in the end it didn't matter. Barney cut him off before he could get more than his name out.

"You're late for training. Jacques is pissed." Barney's tone told him just how happy his brother was for being sent to get him. The older boy took a step forward – a step that couldn't be construed as anything but threatening. "So you better move your ass, you little shit, or I'll kick it myself and save Jacques the trouble."

Clint pushed himself up, not yet decided about whether he'd do as he'd just been instructed or not. Brit was suddenly standing between him and his brother.

"It's his birthday, Barney. Jacques can give him a few minutes."

Clint reached for Brit's arm, pulling him back at the same time Barney shoved a hand against his shoulder.

"It's none of your damn business anyway, Dumbo."

"Don't call him that." Clint snapped, shoving his way between his towering older brother and Brit.

Barney had coined the nickname Dumbo when referring to Brit soon after they'd arrived at the Carnival. It was his way of calling him dumb – a shot at his inability to hear – and calling him a misfit, even amongst the misfits of Carson's.

Barney's hand latched around his forearm.

"Get that shit off your face and go get to work."

Clint nodded and Barney released him, leaving the tent as quickly as he'd come.

"You shouldn't let him treat you like that," Brit snapped irritably, scrubbing at the icing on his face.

"Just leave it, Brit." Clint spoke and signed in annoyance as he moved back to his cot, digging into his trunk for a clean shirt.

"He's not wrong." Kara put in quietly as she reached with a tissue to gently wipe the icing from his face. "You deserve better."

"Barney's my brother." Clint sighed, gently pulling her hands away from his face and wiping away the last of the icing with his hand. "He's just trying to keep me out of Jacques' crosshairs."

He didn't give Kara a chance to argue before he shoved his feet into his worn Nikes and headed for the exit. He turned back at the flap and gave them both a crooked grin.

"Thanks for the uh…" he motioned vaguely at his face and then them and then huffed a slight laugh and left.

Clint scowled out over the canals. He knew now that Barney's threat to kick his ass himself hadn't been an idle one. He knew now that Barney hadn't been trying to protect him.

He knew now that Barney had hated him then – had been hating him for a long time.

Brit and Kara had taken him into the nearest city for dinner that night while Ana ran interference back at Carson's.

The wish he'd made never came true – in fact the opposite had happened.

He'd wished for Barney to start acting like the Barney from before the accident – the Barney that would let him use his shoulder as a pillow in the car. Instead, he got a version of Barney that didn't think twice about stabbing him in the chest and leaving him to die.

Clint sighed.

Birthdays sucked.

He nearly jumped when his phone started ringing obnoxiously in his pocket – the generic, shrill ring made him want to punch something. He really needed to look into personalizing a ringtone for the one person who ever called him.

He stared at the phone for a long moment – debating on whether or not to answer.

Phil would just come looking if he didn't pick up. The man was a surprisingly intense worrier.

He flipped the phone open.

"Barton."

There was a slight pause – Phil probably hadn't expected him to answer on the first try. Clint took slight pride in his unpredictability and waited for his handler to get over the momentary shock.

"You ran off before I could even tell you I cooked breakfast."

Clint found himself smirking.

"Maybe it's a good thing I left. I escaped before you could put my life in danger with your cooking."

Phil scoffed.

"I'm not that bad."

"Eh…you're pretty bad, Phil."

Sometimes Clint refused to eat what the man prepared out of sheer fear for his health – nay, his life.

And sometimes he did it just to annoy. His smirk widened at the defensive huff that came across the line.

"I didn't call to debate my culinary expertise."

"Or lack thereof."

"Clint."

Clint sighed. That was Phil's 'time to get down to business' tone. There was no escaping when he used that tone – short of hanging up, that is.

"Did you think I didn't know what today was?"

Clint winced. There was accusation in his tone now – like Clint should be ashamed of himself for assuming such a thing.

"Or did you think I just didn't care?"

"I…" Clint trailed off, feeling his neck redden in shame.

"I care, Clint."

Clint bit his lips, scuffing his boot against the clay tile beneath his feet. It caught him off guard when Phil tended to abruptly declare that Clint meant something to him.

He was an idiot – that's just all there was to it. He was a complete idiot.

Phil had been nothing but good to him in the past ten, nearly eleven, months. Of course he knew what today was.

And of course he cared.

Clint wished that had been as obvious to him two hours ago.

But as stated – he was an idiot.

"I'm sorry." He offered it quietly, as contritely as he could manage. Contrite just wasn't something he normally tried to be, though, so he wasn't sure how sincere it sounded.

Phil sighed, but it didn't sound annoyed. It sounded almost…affectionate.

"Don't be sorry – just stop being stupid. Get back here and eat your damn birthday breakfast before I decide not to save you any."

Clint barely fought down a grin.

"Sir, yes, sir." He took a moment to make sure his tone was sufficiently mocking.

He was pleased to determine that it was.

He waited for the line to go dead – was a moment away from snapping the phone closed and making it so himself – when Phil's voice suddenly filtered across the line one last time.

"If you happened to stop and get some pastries or something…it wouldn't necessarily be a bad idea."

Then the line went dead and Clint snapped his phone closed with a large grin.

Clint eyed the brown-ish, goo-like substance on his plate and pushed at it with his spoon. Across from him, Phil scooped a portion onto his own spoon and stared at it.

"How did you screw up oatmeal?"

Phil's neck flushed crimson.

"It's scrambled eggs."

Clint wrinkled his nose and pushed at the 'eggs' with his spoon again. It took every fiber of his self control to keep his eyes from shifting the white paper bag on the counter – a bag he knew to contain pastries. Instead, he fortified himself and scooped some of the 'eggs' onto his spoon. He mentally rallied himself and blew out a silent breath of preparation.

Then he raised the spoon, keeping his eyes pinned on the goo lest it try to come alive and escape.

"Wait."

He lifted his eyes – spoon hovering an inch from his mouth – when he heard Phil's plea and heard him drop his own spoon down onto his plate.

"I can't – in good conscious – let you eat that when I can't even bring myself to do the same." Phil stood and took both their plates to the sink to be forgotten for now. He snagged the pastry bag on his way back to the table and tossed it down in front of Clint.

"Breakfast is served."

Clint dug out one for himself and handed a second on to Phil.

They ate in silence for several minutes – each savoring the sweet heaven that was their meal.

Clint had let himself get so wrapped up in his first, and then his second, pastry, he nearly missed it when Phil cleared his throat and spoke.

"So…it's your birthday."

Clint blinked at him. That was probably the most obvious statement he'd heard in a while. It was also a very obvious attempt to start a conversation along those lines. Unfortunately for Phil – and fortunately for Clint – he had no problem blatantly ignoring conversation starters and obvious statements.

So he did.

He kept his gaze calmly on Phil's and casually took another bite of his pastry.

He watched Phil take in the flagrant avoidance technique – watched the older man's eyes narrow – then watched his eyebrow arch and head tilt in mildly mocking challenge. Clint almost broke his blank stare – almost – in favor of a smile because Phil was really getting to know him so well.

He managed to hold it though and wait patiently for whatever Phil was about to throw at him.

"You think I didn't see that almost smile…but I did."

Clint's eyes narrowed. Maybe Phil was getting to know him too well.

"And if you're going to this much trouble to avoid talking about this, then that means it's something that we need to talk about."

Clint shifted his gaze from blank stare to a hard glare. He crossed his arms across his chest and settled back in his chair. Phil wanted to go to battle over this, he was ready to fight it out.

To his complete surprise, Phil's shoulders dropped and his gaze softened.

"Come on, kid. You really gonna dig your heels in over this? It can't be that bad."

Clint kept his expression carefully blank.

It really wasn't that bad. So he hadn't celebrated his birthday in three years – big deal. So he didn't think his life was one worth celebrating – so what? It wasn't like he was harboring some deep seeded, dark, painful secret about birthdays past. He just didn't want to make a big deal about it.

"Fine." Phil sighed. "I'm not going to drag it out of you but only because it's your birthday. So consider that my present."

Clint couldn't quite believe Phil was letting it go that easily. He watched the older man for a long moment, trying to judge the sincerity of the surrender. Phil endured the scrutiny with an open, honest expression and then calmly stood to start cleaning up the disaster area he'd created in the kitchen.

Clint pursed his lips and chewed the inside of his cheek.

Damn it.

"I don't have anything against birthdays. It's not like I've got some dark twisted past…" he scowled. "Well, not that has to do with my birthday, at least."

He watched Phil freeze at the sink, shoulders tensing suddenly at the allusion to his past. Slowly, his handler turned on the water and started scrubbing dishes.

"So why the avoidance?"

Clint shrugged even though Phil couldn't see him.

"Just don't see what's worth celebrating."

Phil froze again. Then he calmly switched the water back off and turned to face him, drying his hands on a towel.

"Do you mean birthdays in general? Or just yours?"

Clint frowned. Did the man just know everything?

"Not just mine." Clint tilted his head slightly. "Mine and everyone else like me."

Phil crossed his arms over his chest.

"Like you?"

Clint's lips curled into a dark smile – and let the matching darkness in his eyes speak for itself.

Phil sighed, uncrossed his arms, and moved back to his chair.

"So let me see if I'm understanding this. You don't think your birthday should be celebrated because you believe you're some evil murderer."

Clint arched an eyebrow. Was he supposed to agree? Deny? Argue?

He wasn't sure, so he settled for just blinking and waiting.

"And yet, it obviously mattered to you whether or not I cared about what today was."

Clint felt his lips turn slightly downward.

"So obviously you care what today is." Phil cocked his head to the side. "But you've convinced yourself you don't because you don't think you deserve it."

"Wow Dr. Phil…you really psychoanalyzed the shit out of that. I feel healed." He could do deadpan with the best of them and for a brief moment he thought it would work – that Phil would be distracted by the sarcasm.

He might have known by now that Phil Coulson wasn't so easily deflected.

"It's okay to want to acknowledge – hell, to celebrate – your birthday, Clint."

Clint felt his shoulders drop.

"No, it's not."

He could practically see Phil latch onto that like a dog to a bone and nearly immediately regretted letting it slip. Best to head Phil off at the pass now before he went all Dr. Phil again.

"I've been alive nineteen years, Phil. I've killed 287 people – innocent people – in that time."

"Not all the names in your ledger are innocent."

"That doesn't matter." It came out hard and sharp and he watched Phil flinch slightly at it.

Clint shook his head.

"You wanna celebrate my life? No life that amounts to more evil than good deserves to be celebrated."

So why did he want so badly to hear Phil tell him Happy Birthday one more time? Why had he rushed back to the safe house for his 'birthday breakfast?' Why did it matter so much to him that it mattered to Phil?

"Kid, you are nineteen." Phil's tone had Clint's eyes flying back to his. That was a tone of exasperation – of affection – and it was directed, in full force, right at him. "You have the rest of your life to make right whatever you need to make right with yourself and the rest of the world. You are here right now because you chose to be here. You are choosing to fight that battle and aim for redemption. That choice – because it is a choice, your choice – that makes your life worth celebrating."

Clint swallowed. He didn't want to see the honest acceptance and affection in Phil's eyes, but he couldn't force himself to look away. Ten months now, and he still had no idea what this man saw in him to put a look like that in his eyes.

"So I'm going to celebrate. Because I, for one, am damn glad you were born." Phil raised his eyebrows in slight challenge. "You with me, or not?"

Clint cocked his head and then chewed the inside of his lip in contemplation.

Celebrate his battle towards redemption rather than dwell on the reason he needed that redemption in the first place?

Now that was one hell of a frown getting flipped on its ass.

He could buy it for now, he supposed. Phil could be unreasonably convincing when he put his mind to it. And maybe…maybe having someone so blatantly glad he was alive to be celebrated, made it easier to want to celebrate too.

"Fine. But that means you have to get me a cake."

Phil watched Clint fawn over his new quiver, practically stroking it like it was made of gold.

"You wanna take it for a spin?"

Clint's eyes finally tore away from his new toy and a grin lit his face.

"You suggesting target practice?"

Phil smiled and stood, motioning Clint to follow him. The archer did so without complaint, eyes lit up with curiosity. Phil led him down the narrow stairwell at the far side of the room, through two different rooms, and down another stairwell. He reached for a light switch at the bottom of the stairs and stepped aside so Clint could see the room.

"I know basements aren't your thing, but you'd have seen it if I put it on the roof."

Clint's smile as he moved farther into the room and took in the shooting range Phil had set up, practically lit the room.

"You did all this?"

Phil heard the 'for me?' that Clint didn't say and it drew a warm smile to his lips.

"I knew as soon as you got your hands on that," he pointed at the new quiver hanging from Clint's hand, "you'd be itching to try it out. So…" he waved his arm in a wide arc across the room, "try it out."

Clint immediately started strapping the quiver into place, eyes already scanning the numerous targets Phil had set up around the large basement. Phil knew some of the shots would be tricky, even for Clint. But he also knew that Clint loved a challenge.

"What's the bet?" There was mischief in that tone – enough to put a wary arch in Phil's eyebrow.

Trust Clint to turn anything he thought he could win at into a bet.

Phil let a smug smirk settle on his own lips as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"You hit all the targets and I'll tell you where your cake is hidden."

That had Clint's head snapping around and his eyes widening in nearly comical shock.

"You got me a cake?" But there wasn't anything comical about his tone. It was nothing but honest surprise, like he hadn't thought Phil would actually go to the trouble. It both tugged at Phil's heartstrings and made him want to slap the kid upside the head.

He settled for softening his smirk into a warm smile.

"Of course I did." He moved to Clint's side and reached to grip the back of his neck. When the kid tried to look away, Phil tightened his hold, forcing the archer's gaze back to his. "When are you gonna stop doubting?"

He knew he wouldn't have to spell it out any more than that. Clint's insecurities ran deep and they struck hard and fast when neither of them expected it. Phil would do whatever he had to – for as long as he had to – until he could make those insecurities fade away. Until Clint stopped second guessing his place in Phil's life.

Because whether the kid liked it or not, he'd come to matter a whole hell of a lot to him. And that fact only grew deeper and stronger with every passing day. If only he could get Clint to understand that – to stop doubting it.

He watched Clint's jaw clench and could practically see the internal struggle as he fought not to avert his eyes from Phil's. Time to knock it home.

"I care a hell of a lot, kid. There's nothing you can do to change that, so you might as well accept it and get used to it." He gave his neck one last squeeze. "Because I'm not going anywhere, all right?"

For barely a moment, there was vulnerability in that blue-gray gaze. Vulnerability that ran so deep and strong that it nearly took Phil's breath away. But just as quick it was gone and Clint was nodding, fortifying himself before Phil's very eyes.

"When I hit all those targets…I'm so not sharing any cake with you."

And equilibrium was restored.

Phil released his hold on Clint's neck and backed away.

"You either share, or I'm not telling where it is."

"It's my birthday cake."

"That I bought."

Clint huffed.

"Fine. But it better have a damn candle on it."

Happy 19th birthday to Clint!

Hope you enjoyed this little step back into the Vantage Point Universe :) It is a ONE-SHOT, but it is also the first of a new one-shot series :) So get excited! I AM working hard on Cairo, I promise! But with all my new (super exciting) distractions, staying focused is sometimes hard :) I know you all will stick with me though, right!

Until next time!

Say happy birthday to Clint by leaving a review! I know he'd appreciate it! lol :D