It took me a really long time to write this chapter and the next. We're moving through the final transition of the story and barreling towards the end.

The crowd that gathered in the living room of Stark Tower's main floor was a veritable buffet of the superhuman and the preternatural. Agent Coulson had cleared the entire tower of its employees and staff, save for the Avengers team and Camilla's Guardians. They now sat, stood, leaned, and crouched in various positions wherever they could find space as they waited for the arrival of Camilla's personal hell-spawn. She paced the long length of the glass windows in front of the pool, feeling the anticipation rise with the setting of the sun. They had done everything possible to prepare, had coated the outer and inner walls with the brew of animal magic and carved (much to Tony's chagrin) glyphs of protection into the cement. There was nothing left to do but wait.

Miranda shifted from her place in a lowered pit of pillows, "Maybe he won't come. Your vision may have changed his mind." The thought had crossed Camilla's psyche more than once in the last hour, the waiting and the watching trying even her notorious patience.

Camilla issued a sharp shake of her head, "I'm never wrong."

From nearby she heard Kenny sigh loudly, "Why not just do the calling and exorcise the son of a bitch?"

From beside him, Lucy slapped Kenny's arm in reprimand, "Because, idiot, we don't have the quartz.

Without a grounding agent, he would suck us all into the Other."

Mention of that dark realm sent shivers down the length of Camilla's already tense spine. Memories of the beast bounding forward in the shadows flashed in her mind's eye, reminding her that she was not as powerful as she would like to be and that she was consistently standing on unsteady ground. There were still places and things that could outnumber and outwit her in any realm she happened to frequent. It was an acute prompt to remain careful until they had completed the task.

Steve, not dressed in his usual fighting uniform but in a button up and slacks that aged him far too much, placed his hands on his hips and leveled a severe look at Camilla. "We have no idea what we're fighting against. We have no plan, and we're practically sitting ducks."

She nodded, recognizing how royally screwed they would be if Astar made it past the glyphs, "I don't know what else to do. The demon is bolstered with the souls of potential Guardians and hell bent on seeking revenge—either on me or Darcy, I have no idea which."

Darcy, who had adamantly denied leaving while Loki remained in the building, perked up. "I'm with Steve on this one. We need a plan."

Lucy rolled her eyes, "The plan is to fortify our defenses and hold down the fort until we can get the reinforcements. Any offensive move we make to fight him off is only going to end up with one or more of us killed."

Tony, who was pouring a drink at the bar scoffed, "We'll all be dead if it gets in the house."

"Children," Coulson called out. "Fighting amongst ourselves isn't going to solve anything. Camilla and her team are well aware of the dangers of the demonic. And since we all got our asses handed to us the last time one of these things was in this living room, I think we may do well to listen to them."

Camilla was, admittedly, pretty impressed with the way Coulson could command the attention of the rather rambunctious group of people housed in the room. But, then again, that was probably in his job description under classified skill sets. The room descended back into apprehensive silence and Camilla continued to pace. From in the distance, rolls of thunder could be heard barreling across the sky.

Most of the faces in the room turned to Thor, who shrugged his massive shoulder and shook his head, "This isn't my doing." Beside him, Jane smiled subtly, nudging him a little with her thigh.

"It's Astar," Camilla murmured, her eyes squinting into the oncoming darkness. Steve, too, peered outwards next to her, arms loose at his sides. Beside him, Camilla felt small. He was a whole head taller and had at least a hundred pounds on her. There was within him this energy bursting at the walls of his restraint, a powerful force reined in until it was needed. She had seen how he fought, shield at his side, had seen how he would take down an opponent. Part of her couldn't believe that the even tempered man standing next to her could be capable of knocking down enemy after enemy without breaking a sweat. On top of that, he was commanding not only himself, but she noticed the others looking to him far more often than any other team member when a decision had to be made. The Captain wasn't just a moniker, he was leading an army of superheroes into battle and that comforted her somewhat uneasy disposition.

The thunder grew louder, the winds snapping at ledge and whipping angrily against the windows until they shook with the force. They rattled with the pressure, the water in the pool growing choppy and frantic. Camilla knew that it wouldn't be long; the time for patience was almost up. Astar wouldn't wait any longer, and she was glad of it, ready to finally see him after so many years of putting off their next meeting.

Turning, she glanced back at the group, their eyes following the rush of movement outside, each looking battle ready and more or less eager. She caught Darcy's eye, the girl winking at her with a very nearly joyous expression on her face. Knowing that now wasn't the time for philosophical exploration, she set aside the inclination to wonder at how she could sympathize with Darcy's thrilled expression.

From there, Camilla checked her team, noting how they'd each taken off whatever jacket they had been wearing to expose their tattoos. Good, there would be no time for wardrobe changes if a fight broke out. Next, and almost inevitably, she looked to Clint, bow at the ready. He, too, looked ready for a brawl, his stoic expression letting her know that there would be no hesitation if he had to take a shot. Closing her eyes for a brief second, Camilla counted her blessings that she had amassed such a force for good. It just might be enough to fend off the truly evil being that was Astar.

A sharp crack was all the warning Camilla was allowed before the glass shattered behind her, sending her sprawling. She moved as quickly as she could, scrambling away and turning her shoulders to face the windows. Incredibly, they were still intact, shimmering faintly with every flash of lightening.

"Are you alright," Steve asked, helping her to her feet.

"Fine," Camilla replied absently, her attention focused on the railing and the glass still standing before her. The psychologically induced attack was an unmistakable sign that Astar was near, already beginning his mind games. She stared hard at the ledge of the balcony, grunting when a hand slithered up over the cement rail and grasped to gain leverage. Camilla motioned jerkily to the rest of the group and she heard them rustling to standing, each taking whatever weapon they had available to them and aiming.

Rain began to pour in slicing sheets outside while the lights flickered indoors, a low hum of eerie presence filling the atmosphere. Still, Camilla waited and watched, another hand reaching up over the ledge to hoist a body that appeared to be all skin and bones onto the balcony. It was all shadows and deception, she knew, a frail appearance of a powerful entity, designed to disarm and confuse them into letting their guard down. Camilla's eyes narrowed as Astar stood, his auburn hair matted to his skin by the rain and wind. Astar was tall, well over six feet, and lean enough that his face looked almost sunken against his cheekbones. His hair was long down the length of his back, eyes glowing orange in the darkness, glinting a pale green reflection as whatever light from the room hit his retinas. If not for the ashen pallor of his skin and the nearly starving look of his build, Camilla might actually term him beautiful.

Astar smiled toothily, "Hello, Camilla. It's been a long time."

She shrugged, "Not long enough, I'd say."

"You wound me," he replied, bringing one hand to a heart that didn't beat. His smile turned to a sneer as he observed the rest of the inhabitants of the room, moving so that he was somewhat pressing against the glass. His eyes followed whatever movements were going on behind her, but Camilla knew she couldn't afford to let her attention lapse for even a second. Finally, Astar spotted Darcy and smiled so cruelly that Camilla could not help but to intervene.

"Eyes over here, Astar. Your dealings are with me," she said, her spine very straight and her gaze fierce.

Astar merely lowered his eyes demurely, tilting his head so his hair fell in straggled lumps over his shoulder. "Such spirit. I have missed you so much."

She sneered at the endearing tone and the familiarity with which he addressed her, "I doubt that."

His response was a dramatic and very convincing pout, "Again, you wound me. Careful, I may retaliate."

Camilla refused to take his bait, but she could see Steve tensing at her side, prepping to protect her if necessary. She appreciated the he had her back, but their plan was to hold firmly here until the sun rose, continuing to create more lines of defense in the morning. There would be no heroism tonight, if she had anything to do with it. Astar fed off the pride of heroic acts, twisting them into something he could use to bring death and destruction to those around him. Inaction, for the moment, would serve them best while they waited for the final components needed in the exorcism.

Pacing, Astar felt along the window, looking for flaws in their defenses with as much nonchalance as could be expected for a demon. Camilla paced with him, keeping her body between Astar and the others and checking his movements for aggression. His smile was serene and that was all the more unsettling for her. After a few laps, Astar stopped, giving a tiny sigh and reaching up to brace his hand against the glass.

Camilla fell backwards, but not down, lifted by her throat to slide across the floor on the tips of her toes. She grabbed at her neck, feeling a squeezing pressure cut off her air supply with vicious intent. Centering herself, Camilla called upon her power and channeled it through her tattoos until it burst forth across her own skin, sending the phantom attack on its way. Astar reeled back until he balanced precariously along the ledge of the pool, snarling.

In a flash, he was pounding against the window, his hands badly burned and smoking from her defense. Camilla braced herself for Astar's retaliation, sensing the support of the other Guardians as they gathered on either side of her. From all around the room, furniture began to vibrate and rock against the floor. The technology Tony had worked so hard to build and fortify misfired in random spurts, fluttering the lights and sending static pulses throughout the room. Wind from seemingly nowhere, rustled Camilla's hair and wrapped around her clothes in an attempt to knock her off balance. She fought against it, gritting her teeth as she kept her balance on the balls of her feet, her shoes squealing against the floor.

Astar snarled once more, stalking towards her with a murderous glare she had seen many times before. Camilla held up both hands, preparing another jolt of energy in grounding for a fight. He smiled, surprising her as he lifted his burn-marked palms to the storming sky.

"At the risk of sounding cliché, my darling, I'll be back."

And then there was nothing in place of where he stood, a blank circuit of moving air that gave no indication evil had been present not a millisecond before in rage and fury. Camilla allowed herself to blink for the first time in several minutes, her fingers curling in relaxation even though her shoulders remained tensed. The rain continued to pour outside, lightening flashing across the sky in regular and rhythmic patterns followed by thunder that cracked so hard Camilla had to wince as the sound reached her ears. Air stilling within, the house settled into something relatively quiet. She dropped her hands, turning to check on the group.

Most of them looked bewildered by the almost anticlimactic turn of events, their eyes flicking around the room as the furniture and equipment settled back into normality. Only Tony seemed to be able to make any sense of the situation, his expression frustrated as he checked and rechecked his calculations on the clear screen in front of him, calling out soft orders to Jarvis. Camilla rolled her eyes as he pulled Dr. Banner in on the action, pointing out inaccuracies on the glass with a Twizzler.

Camilla turned to her team, shrugging. "So, that was odd."

"Odd, how?" Darcy called out, pulling at the ends of her hair. The girl looked considerably less excited by the arrival of their mutual foe, her countenance more contemplative than keyed up.

"We're still alive, for one," Camilla replied, looking to Lucy, who was busy checking the window for damage or demonic glyphs. "He just left, for two. And, for three, the house is still standing."

"Son of a bitch," Tony called from the back. "He cut the defense systems."

"Mostly standing," Camilla amended. "Although who knows what kind of trap he's laid."

Coulson slipped his phone into his pocket, having just sent an email. He seemed to have had enough of the shenanigans going on under his nose and was now moving in to take control of the situation.

"I have two agents at every entrance, one group sweeping the building for intruders, and one checking all security systems. Tony, Bruce, I know you'll want to be checking your equipment and aborting all unnecessary experiments. Hang tight on the lab floor until I give you leave. Natasha, you and Thor take the weapons room and bring back a couple of sets of body armor. I want us protected if objects are flying across the room. Report back here when you're done. Captain, you and Loki stay here with the civilians until we can ensure the safety of the building."

It was Kenny who spoke up next, "I hate to break it to you, sir, but no amount of firepower is going to help if Astar starts working his magic around this place."

Coulson leveled a look at Kenny that could have turned an entire lake to vaporized ash. "I'm also having ten crates of holy water and every cross we can find to this room within an hour. Camilla said it responds to the Christian god. I'm prepared to go Old Testament on his ass."

If it weren't incredibly inappropriate, Camilla might have started a slow clap in response to Coulson's little speech. She really liked this guy, had to respect him for taking on Astar by the metaphorical horns—although he did like to role play the stereotypical devil on occasion. It was nice to finally have someone rise up to the challenge when Camilla had felt for so long like she was floundering. The agents moved immediately to do his bidding, acting on reflexive command to carry out his instructions without protest (mostly without protest, Tony did manage to stick his tongue out at the agent as he walked).

Remembering their marred calling circle, Camilla said, "I need to check the training floor. If he's going to move in a preemptive strike, that'll be where he starts."

Coulson eyed her for a moment before nodding, "Barton, go with her. The rest of you are staying here until I get the all clear, understood?"

A round of murmurs in assent sounded across the room, but Camilla was already heading for the elevator, feeling a rise of anxiety with each step. Astar never left things unfinished, always struck hard and fast with stunning alacrity. She didn't like this new patient, conniving Astar, wasn't sure how to defeat him if the time came. Having had the demon inside her, Camilla knew how he thought and worked, knew his inner desire just as he knew hers. In all their encounters she had always been able to predict his movements and motivations. This time, however, Astar had seriously surprised her and that was… very not good.

Clint followed her into the elevator, bow held before him loosely. "So that's Astar."

"Yeah," Camilla replied lightly, her voice cracking painfully.

"Seems nice enough," he said casually. She could tell that he meant just the opposite, could read it in the tension of his arms and hands as they flexed over his weapon.

Camilla huffed, "He's a real peach."

She didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to acknowledge that she had interacted with Astar on any level. Camilla felt stupid and inept, clumsy despite her training and understanding of Astar's demonic nature. Something just wasn't sitting right in her gut about the whole night, starting with her vision. On the ride down, she went over the events many times in her head, wondering at why Astar had only exposed tiny parlor tricks in comparison to his real power. Had he been weakened in some way? She dismissed the idea, knowing that he may very well still be riding the high of potential souls. No, this was new game he'd learned, and Camilla only wished she knew the rules.

They stepped out onto the training floor, walking in tandem towards the large calling circle in the middle of the room. Camilla circled it, checking the marks for tampering and finding nothing suspicious. She went over it again, and again, until Clint's arm halted her progress.

"You're going to drive yourself crazy."

She sighed, "I just want to know what's going on."

"We all want answers," he replied gently. "But, we'd be better off finding them if we're not separated from the group for long."

Camilla hated that he was right, yet again, and already pulling her to the elevator by the tips of her fingers. She went with a trudge in her steps, sending one final glance to the training room floor and finding nothing had changed in the mere seconds she'd been looking away. Once more ensconced in the tiny space, Camilla lowered her chin to her chest and stared hard at the doors. Five days, and they would have the blessed quartz ready and she would call that arrogant soul-sucking fucker to her court and they would play ball by her rules.

Bolstered by the knowledge that Astar's days were quite literally numbered, Camilla squared her shoulders and braced her feet in a slightly wider stance. The fight wasn't over, and she wasn't defeated. This was only the first battle, but she had a game plan that packed a powerful punch on top of having the backup of four other well-trained guardians. Astar could bring it, and she would face him down.

"Good girl," Clint murmured as the doors opened, his hands brushing her wrist in a subtle gesture before he stepped out. Camilla followed him, nodding to Lucy that all was well downstairs.

Soon enough, they gathered once more in the living room, this time in and around the pit of pillows at the back of the room. Camilla sat on the edge next to Darcy, who was flipping through the channels on a large drop down TV. She worked her way through the options twice, finally settling on a generic sitcom and throwing the remote to the side.

"I don't like all this waiting around," Darcy said so lowly that Camilla had to strain to hear it.

"I know," She replied, patting Darcy's back. "But, when it happens, you'll wish for more waiting."

Across the way, Camilla spied Loki speaking with his brother. He looked restless in a desperate way, frustrated and hungry all at the same time. She could see Thor working to calm him despite a similar look of discomfort on his face. Nearby, Jane looked on anxiously, occasionally scribbling notes into a splotched notebook on her lap.

The room slowly filled with nameless faces carrying crates and boxes into the center of the room, calmly directed by Coulson. Camilla watched them carefully, laughing a little at the rather ornate and tacky crosses they hauled begrudgingly one by one. Astar, demon as he was, would probably be repelled by their symbolic power for a while, but not forever. The holy water they unpacked in large jugs would be much more effective at protecting them from any demonic attacks from Astar and serving a dual purpose of seriously pissing the demon off—Camilla could deal with that, might actually enjoy seeing the look on Astar's face the first time he was foiled by (what he considered) mere mortals.

Each person in the room was handed a jug of water and crosses were scattered in random spots, leaning against walls and peeking out from tabletops. By the time the movement in the room slowed once more to a stop, Camilla had absentmindedly watched three episodes of the sitcom with Darcy and was gearing up for an argument with her about the developing love triangle.

"No, Aaron only wants to date Naomi because he wants to get into her father's company. Rick is a way better choice because he really loves her."

Camilla scoffed, "Seriously? If Rick loved Naomi, he wouldn't still be seeing Farah, and hiding it from her. Tell me that doesn't reek of shadiness."

"Yeah, but at least he shows her his feelings," Darcy countered with a slight whine. "Aaron's like a freaking robot."

"A robot who saved her life," Camilla shot back, suddenly feeling the eyes of the room fall upon them. She could practically hear the lifting of brows as they scraped against a smattering of hairlines all over the place. Darcy, too, glanced around at the faces that had turned in their direction, her mouth forming a small 'o' on awkward recognition. Then, she shrugged one shoulder and settled back into the pillows, determined to enjoy the season finale with poise that would be fit for a queen.

Boots stepped in beside her and Natasha eased down gracefully so that she could check out the program. She watched for about two minutes in a very focused manner, her hands hanging loosely between her knees.

"I've seen this show, and I agree, Aaron is a much better choice. Rick's too wishy-washy."

Camilla blinked at the redhead, her speech failing her for a moment. "Thanks for the support."

"You are welcome. Now, shut up, we're missing the opening."

Quite frankly too unnerved to object, Camilla followed direction and returned her attention to the show, which began (as all season finales do) with a bang. She immersed herself in the storyline, barely managing to hold in the insults she wanted to hurl at the screen during yet another fight between the main characters. As with all things, the episode came to an end and this particular ending came complete with a character death and inspiring final monologue. Camilla stared at the screen while the credits rolled, dumbfounded by the sudden and lacerating ending. To her right, Natasha remained stoic and silent, her hands having clenched in the fist. To her left, Darcy sniffled and rubbed furiously at her nose.

"That is the biggest load of crap I have ever seen," Camilla said, finally. "Who just kills off a main character?"

Darcy glanced sidelong at her, "You must be new."

Natasha seemed to come back from wherever she went inside her mind with that comment, a sharp snort of laughter peeling from her delicate throat. Camilla had the urge to shove at her, but held back because she valued her fingers to be unbroken. Sighing, Camilla slid fully into the pit, ambling across the way to slump against the largest egg shaped pillows. Her gaze flicked around the room, taking in the various scattering of people either speaking lowly to each other or arranging weapons.

Coulson approached her, his mouth pressed into a foreboding line. He stopped just short of the ledge, the hands on his hips pushing back his suit jacket to expose the gun holstered at his side. "Camilla, do you think it's over for the night?"

Camilla looked up at him from lounged position, taking in the fatigue on his face and the slight pump of adrenaline that had his body strung tight. "Maybe. I think we should stick together—at least during the nighttime."

He nodded and began to systematically corral the troops, pulling them into a loose circle. Camilla pushed to sitting and folded her legs beneath her as she waiting for his direction. Clint somehow appeared beside her, his booted feet crossed at the ankle and one hand sneaking behind her to slip beneath the hem of her shirt. The warmth of his palm at her back served to remind her of the things Camilla stood to lose in this fight. Her team had been called in from across the region, her keeper was MIA, the council grew increasingly ineffective with bickering and arguments. Astar had presented himself and threw down the gauntlet, signaling the beginning of yet another battle wherein Camilla could only patch the situation. Her one hope in that moment was that they could stay alive until the stones were delivered and the ritual completed—that was, if Oliver's directions were useful in any way.

Coulson's voice was strong, forceful, and commanding, "From now on this building is on lockdown. No one leaves, no one comes in, no one steps outside for a smoke break. Understood? I have been assured that daylight hours weaken our enemy considerably, so you are granted freedom of movement when the sun is up. But, when the sun sets, I want every person reporting back here where we will stay until sunrise.

"To maintain safety during the day, you will move in pairs. No one leaves their rooms alone, period. I want all civilians wearing body armor at night and under supervision of a shield agent during the day. Now, you should all get comfortable. We'll be here a while."

There was a mass of shuffling , yet somehow most of them ended out laying or sitting in or around the pillow pit. Darcy hadn't relinquished control of the remote, but she had changed the channel to an action flick that seemed to satisfy most visual appetites. Camilla watched through the first movie, the sequel, and a prequel before her eyes finally dropped closed. She wasn't even aware that she'd fallen asleep until light peeked through the glass windows, seeming to aim right for her eyeballs. With a groan, she turned over and buried her head beneath a pillow. Part of her was conscious of Clint as he adjusted to her movement, his body curling around her securely.

Sometime later, she became aware of the fact that she was being carried down the hall away from the living room. The only fact that kept her from struggling for freedom was the familiar scent and skin holding her close. Camilla dozed in and out of consciousness until she was laid on a wide bed far more comfortable than her own. She stretched a little, scooting across the mattress to accommodate for Clint's body. He settled in beside her and pulled her to his body with an arm around her waist, trapping her legs with one thigh slung heavily across them.

Once more comfortable, Camilla slipped back into a sleep that was, for once, dreamless and peaceful. She wasn't sure how long she slept, but when she woke, the other side of the bed was empty. Groggily, she glanced around the room, looking for signs that Clint was still there. Pushing back the sheets, Camilla rolled from the bed and padded over to the door, peering out into the living room of his apartment and finding it similarly empty. Brow furrowed, she edged back into the bedroom and sat sleepily on the bed. Alone, Camilla could take the time to observe the room in detail.

Most of the furniture looked pretty standard, she had the same dresser in her own room, but it was worn from heavy use here in Clint's. Every aspect of the room was lived in, from the various boots and shoes lined up against the wall to the myriad of hooded sweatshirts lying haphazardly over an armchair. Curiously, there were no photos on the wall or propped up on the side table, just a few souvenirs from around the world and a heavy duty wristwatch. Camilla stood and made her way over to the dresser, touching the tiny Eiffel tower with a smile.

Turning in a small circle, Camilla wondered if Clint would be gone all morning (or afternoon as the clock now read half past eleven). As much as she would love a bath, Camilla settled for shuffling into the bathroom and splashing her face with water repeatedly, swishing a handful of water in her mouth and spitting into the sink. Hands braced on either side of the sink, Camilla stared at her reflection for a moment. She was tired even though she'd slept well, groggy enough that her vision required effort to focus. But, things were clearing up a bit with every passing moment, and Camilla knew that soon she would be as well rested as could be possible given the lack of sleep.

Moving out into the main room of the apartment, Camilla headed straight for the kitchen, determined to make herself a cup of coffee and get a much needed caffeine jolt. She ambled around the island, locating the coffeemaker and the can of ground sitting next to it. Once she'd set the heat, she checked the refrigerator for breakfast items. Clint was definitely a guy, with very little in way of food sitting on the shelves. There was milk, a couple of boxes of take out, and a case of beer, none of which helped her make anything remotely normal for the first meal of the day.

Staring at the open fridge, Camilla clucked her tongue and pulled out the boxes of takeout, opening each one and setting it on the counter. Some of it wasn't salvageable, having sat too long in the container. But, Camilla was able to scrape some rice, spaghetti, and meatballs from the packages, throwing the rest away before it started growing penicillin. Reaching into the back of the fridge, she pulled out a forgotten bag of flour and the milk, spying a half eaten bag of shredded cheese along the way. Using mismatched Tupperware, Camilla mixed up some batter for biscuits and heated a skillet for the rice and pasta. While the biscuits cooked in the oven, she slowly heated the rest of the ingredients in the skillet, mixing them gently.

When the biscuits-that-actually-looked-more-like-pancakes were browned, she carefully pushed them out onto a pair of plates and topped each with a bit of her mixture. Setting the skillet aside, she added a dash of cheese to each and seasoned them with a little salt and pepper. Camilla had just finished pouring her cup of coffee when the door opened and Clint stepped through. He was dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, his hair matted down against his forehead, suggesting that he'd been pulled from sleep for a meeting of some kind.

Holding up a plate, she called out, "I made breakfast and there's coffee if you want it."

Clint stepped into the kitchen and eyed the plate, expressionless and silent. Camilla raised her brows as he approached, tilting her head to the side and offering him the food with narrowed eyes. He took the plate and set it aside, his other hand gripping her coffee mug and, likewise, setting on the counter. Then, he dropped to a knee with both hands gripping her hips just above the waistband of her linen pants. Forehead pressed to the space below her bellybutton, Clint inhaled deeply, his hands flexing a little.

Camilla held still, confused but willing to let him do whatever it was that he was doing if it made him feel better. She ran her hands through his messy hair and waited for the explanation she wasn't sure he would give. With one final inhale, Clint stood, relinquishing none of the space between them. He exhaled and nosed her cheek, searching for a kiss. Camilla smiled and offered her mouth to him, her hands falling to his shoulders so that she could keep balance.

One arm lowering to lift her, Clint hauled her up and backward to sit on the edge of the counter next to the still warm stove. Her breathless laugh was cut off by another forceful kiss that had her skin flushing. It was as if he wanted to devour her, his lips taking in her mouth, neck, and the skin just below her clavicle. Camilla was barely able to keep up, distracted by the skill of his hands and the feeling of being the object of his hunger. She was all molten emotion and wanton need, the fiery coursing of her blood beating in time with her pounding heart.

Purposefully, Clint slowed the kiss until they were simply two bodies pressing together and sharing heavy breaths. He ran his hands up the length of her legs from calf to thigh, skirting around the mark at her hip to pull her toward him off the counter. She watched him gather the plate of pizza biscuits and pour a cup of coffee before sitting down at the small dining table.

Camilla followed with her own plate and cup, saying sheepishly, "Are you always this excited about breakfast?"

He smirked into his plate, forking a bite into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. "I am for your breakfast."

"Its leftovers," Camilla replied dryly, "You seriously need to go grocery shopping."

The shrug he issued was noncommittal, but it was his hands that kept grabbing her attention. They were quick, precise, and purposeful. There was nothing that was superficial, nothing showy or pretentious in the way he moved. Camilla was once more hit with the comprehension of just how controlled Clint was in the most natural way. It manifested itself not only in his fighting style, but also in the fact that he was very much the cleanest eater she had ever seen. That fact, alone, had her taking extra time with her plate to prevent crumbs from the pancake biscuits from getting everywhere.

When the meal was eaten and the plates were gathered, Camilla set about washing up the dishes in the sink. As she went through the familiar movements of scrubbing, rinsing, and drying, she was acutely aware of Clint's consistent observation. He leaned against the counter and watched her efforts, sipping coffee. Camilla did her best to pretend he wasn't there, working her way through the stack of dishes and setting them aside to dry. When she reached down to pull the plug from the drain, Clint leaned over her to set his mug in the sink.

Despite herself, Camilla found her body freezing with his proximity, not so much in fear as with anticipation and awareness. By now she should have gotten used to him invading her space at every opportunity, but each new experience brought that same dropping in her stomach and the same burn of and shaking of her nerves. Camilla held very still and watched his hand release the mug into the watch, the porcelain dropping to the bottom and gathering suds. It filled with water and she could see a faint mist of condensation rushing up the exposed sides from the heat.

Picking it from the water, Camilla ran a sponge over the outside, the handle, and the inner rim. She scrubbed away any remnants of the coffee, rinsing the suds with cool water before placing it along with the rest of the dishes to air dry. Only then did she release the plug and let the water drain from the sink, the leftover soap gathering in a half sphere of tiny bubbles. Clint, who had been silent and motionless for this procedure, finally found it within himself to move. He grabbed the drying cloth from the handle of the stove and, with his free hand, grasped her wrist. The towel was a little rough against her palms, but his touch was confident, gentle. Working the cloth between her fingers and over the backs of her hands, Clint removed every drop of water from skin that had begun to prune.

Camilla watched him, watched the flickering of his eyes as he went over his work and the smooth rotation of his hands and wrists as he held her. Much like when he had treated her wounds after her visit to Oliver, she felt this kind of strange compassion coming from him. He was taking such care of her and some part of Camilla wondered why he even felt the compulsion. She was reminded of the fact that they really didn't know each other very well, had been thrown together into an extraordinary situation and that their nearness was not permanent. Yet, even as she recognized these things, Camilla knew that whatever was happening at that very moment would be carried with her for possibly the rest of her life.

Having finished his task, Clint set the towel aside and simply held both of her hands, his eyes scanning the skin. She didn't know what he might be looking for, but Camilla allowed it for a long while, patiently assessing and reassessing the situation in an effort to allow Clint the moment he seemed to require. Using her hands as leverage, he pulled her into his body, circling her with his arms. Camilla pressed her forehead to his shoulder, closing her eyes against the fabric of his shirt and simply enjoyed the feeling of behind held.

"Camilla," he murmured, pushing her hair from her neck.

She hummed in response, tracing a line of muscle near his spine, her finger dipping into a valley and dragging a little of the fabric upwards. He swayed a little on his feet and she felt more than heard his sigh. She drank in everything about that moment with all her senses, memorizing it for those future days when she was once more on her own. He was the most solid thing that had ever entered her life, unwaveringly facing every darkness that approached, eyes set on the target.

"You know," he said, breaking the silence, "I could really get used to this."

Camilla snorted, "You're just saying that because I make good food."

Clint smiled against the skin of her neck, "Your cooking is fucking awesome, but I like you, too. All my culinary needs served up in one hot little package."

She snorted again, "Flattery won't get you more pancakes."

His chuckle was low, "Let's switch tactics, then."

Clint's kiss was warm and the tiniest bit sweet, the pressure of his mouth firm enough that Camilla couldn't help but to follow his lead. He caught her bottom lip lightly between his teeth, worrying the flesh with his tongue before letting go. The hands at her hips slipped downwards into the back pockets of her pants, pulling her forward to press intimately against him. Camilla's hands clenched into the fabric of his shirt as she felt him hardening against the crease of her hip. Tentatively, she lifted onto her toes, turning out her hips until she could run the length of her pelvis against him, a sense of pride welling up inside her at the abrupt tilt and turn of the kiss.

It burned a path from her mouth to her belly, sending warring messages of excitement and apprehension from her brain to her body. Camilla, as happened to be the pattern of late, felt completely out of control in her own body. She fed from him, taunted by his scent and the confident movements of his tongue. While she had never taken a man into her bed before, Camilla somehow knew that, if she decided to follow through on the promises she was writing with her hands and lips, it would be an experience she wasn't likely to forget.

Clint was such a distraction, the most seductive kind of temptation because he offered her the things she could never hope to hold onto permanently. He was supportive and kind, appreciative of whatever gifts she happened to expose to him and, more than anything, he accepted her power without question or fear. His were the first eyes that had ever looked at her as something more than a pawn, more than a body to be taken advantage of, to be sacrificed for the good of the many. Clint looked at her as a man looked at a woman, and that was far more powerful than any spell or glyph.

Peppering kisses down he jaw and neck, Clint breathed deep and reached up to tangle his fingers in the strands of her hair. Using the length as leverage, he tilted her head backward so that she was looking up at the ceiling, nearly blind to his actions. Blunt teeth edged over her skin, the warm column of his tongue following the line and dipping into the hollow of her throat. She hissed with the sensation, scrambling at him for purchase as her knees gave out beneath her.

Holding firm, Clint maneuvered her to the wall separating the kitchen from the living room, lifting her by the thighs. Giving a little hop, Camilla wrapped her calves around his hips, laughing a little as they both regained their balance. Clint kissed her again, the smile still so widely present that their teeth clicked together. One hand beneath her ass to hold her steady, he cupped her jaw and held her still for another hard kiss. She returned it eagerly, both arms wrapping around his neck to hold him close.

The kiss remained slow, soft in a way that gave Camilla the opportunity to let down a few of her defenses and put some of the emotions she felt for him into the embrace. Camilla still felt some confusion when it came to Clint, wasn't sure what kind of affection held for him—for certain, she held affection for him. He made her feel safe, gave her confidence, and when he kissed her it was like every second of her life had led to that moment. Every trial, every mistake, had all brought her to the point where Clint could kiss her without Camilla feeling guilty, shamed, or unworthy.

A vibration buzzed against her thigh and Camilla pulled away abruptly, lifting both brows at Clint in question. He smirked, lowering her to the ground and reaching into his pocket. Cell to his ear, he answered curtly, "Barton."

As he listened, Clint traced the meridian of her frame, fingertips dipping into the waistband of her pants and pulling her away from the wall. He rubbed the skin just below the hem of her underwear, his expression thoughtful despite the conversation sounding off in his ear. Camilla watched him carefully, all the while working to control the rhythm of her breathing that had suddenly become erratic. He ended the call without saying goodbye, shoving the phone back into his pocket.

"I've gotta go."

Camilla nodded, "Okay."

He paused a moment, taking in her flustered state and smiled. Leaning in, Clint pressed a forceful kiss to her mouth, nipping at her lower nip as he pulled away. "Hold that thought."

Camilla had no doubt that she would be holding dearly to those thoughts for the foreseeable future.

So we get our first brief glimpse of Astar. There's more of his gnarly self coming up in a few chapters, but I couldn't resist throwing him in for a bit right here.