A/N: This is another AU of the Avengers, post movie. Many thanks to ladygris for doing the Beta services again.

Warning: This story includes explicit and veiled references to drug and alcohol use and abuse.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers, Marvel, Facebook, Twitter or YouTube. If I've left anything out, aside from the OC characters, I don't own them/it either. Someone else does.

Namaste,

Sandy

How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start,

When memory plays an old tune on the heart.

~Eliza Cook

Avengers

Echoes

Chapter 11

Morning came and Natalia lay with her eyes closed. She patted the other side of the bed finding it empty. Sitting up, she looked around. Clint's pajamas were on the bed next to his duffle bag. The faint smell of coffee reached her nose bringing her awake with a start. She gathered her clothes and padded barefoot to the bathroom before going downstairs. Clint was in the kitchen standing at the stove. Using a spatula, he scooped the contents of the pan onto a plate just as the toaster popped. He dropped a slice of toast onto each plate and turned with one in each hand surprised to see her standing in the doorway. She came forward as he set the plates on the kitchen table, presenting herself for a kiss. "Morning. This looks good."

He poured them each a cup of coffee then joined her at the table. "It's just scrambled eggs and toast. Pretty much the limit of my cooking abilities."

"I'm not picky." And to prove it, Natalia picked up the fork and began eating. The eggs were a little overdone for her tastes, but fine. While she chewed, she spread some of the homemade raspberry jam on the toast and took a bite. The sweetness exploded on her tongue, leaving a slightly tart aftertaste. "Mmm."

"Mom always canned enough jam, vegetables and soups to last through winter because Dad didn't like store bought." Natalia nodded as she chewed another bite wondering how to get past this awkward morning after small talk and onto other matters when Clint took the initiative. "I, uh, have an appointment with the attorney at ten. I'll probably go to the funeral home after that. We can meet up and have lunch later, take a walk, whatever you want."

Without actually saying so, Clint indicated he didn't want her with him while he spoke to the attorney. Not a problem. She could go shopping, take a run or perform a few martial arts routines to pass the time. "I'll just stay here, if that's okay."

"Sure." Clint looked at the clock, shoveled the last bite of food into his mouth, and followed it up with coffee. He left the dishes on the table and rushed from the room leaving Natalia alone.

She wasn't insulted or hurt by his rudeness because she understood that he was dealing with strong emotions. He'd loved his parents in spite of the way he and his brother had been treated. Something like that would unsettle even the most stable of personalities, an appellation that did not apply to Clint. No matter what he said or how he acted in front of an audience, she knew he was teetering on the edge of an abyss from which he might never return. That thought led her to wonder what would happen to him and to her if there turned out to be no way to get their world back on track.

Instead of belaboring the subject, Natalia pushed away from the table and carried the dishes to the sink. She scraped the leftover food into the trash, set all the dishes in the sink and filled it with hot soapy water. While they soaked, she used a sponge to wipe down the table and stove. She was nearly done when Clint's footsteps pounded down the stairs, across the foyer and out the front door. Again, she had no feelings one way or the other about his attitude. They weren't in a relationship that required him to account for his whereabouts to her or anyone else. Even if they were, he's an adult and could come and go as he pleased.

After meeting with the attorney and making the funeral arrangements, he would probably need some time alone. And while she waited, meditation would bring out more details from the other timeline so she would be better armed when they finally did sit down and talk.

Natalia finished washing the dishes, let the water out and dried her hands. Taking the keys from her rental out of her pocket, she retrieved her luggage and carried it up to Clint's room. Curiosity got the best of her and she went back into the hall and opened the door to Barney's room. It was much like Clint's, but with more posters of scantily clad women. The room was clean and well cared for, and Natalia had a hunch that it was his mother who had kept the boys' rooms prepared, absolutely certain that one day they would return home. And they did, but now it was too late to put all the old hurts aside, to ask for forgiveness or to request it. She backed out pulling the door shut then went to the door across from the bathroom. After a moment's hesitation, she turned the knob and went inside.

~~O~~

Lourdes Montoya's office was in an old stone building above a dentist office and across from a chain sandwich store. A gas station squatted on the opposite corner. All in all, not much had changed in the years Clint had been gone. A few more strip centers, more gas stations, a lot more people and traffic. There used to be only one funeral home in town, Jeter and Sons, but now there were three. He was here now to find out which of the three he needed to call, and if the arrangements for caskets and burial plots had been taken care of or if they were to be cremated. If they'd left no instructions, that's the way he would go. Not to avoid the expense, but so he could scatter their ashes someplace suitable. Mom would go in the garden and Dad…Clint had no idea what to do with his father's ashes, if that's how this went. He climbed to the stairs and knocked on the pebbled glass door painted with the attorney's name. A voice called out, "It's open!"

Inside, Clint found an atypical attorney's office. Dark wood gave the room a gloomy yet dignified appearance. It also contained a few modern pieces as if the occupant were in the process of changing out the heavy furniture to make the atmosphere lighter and more inviting thereby allowing the clients to be more at ease during times of emotional turmoil.

Bookshelves were stacked with books in varying sizes and thickness, mostly hardbacks. There were framed photos on the shelves and the desk along with other mementos of the woman's life.

The woman herself was a surprise. She was close to Clint's age with light brown hair and eyes the color of good bourbon. Because she was sitting, he couldn't tell her height, but from what he could see, she was trim and shapely. A gold band on her left hand glinted in the light as if signaling that she was married. On the wall behind her were several examples of children's art of the sort usually posted on the refrigerator. As he approached the desk, he could see that one of the photos on the bookshelves was of the attorney, a dark-haired man the same age and a boy approximately three.

She stopped typing and stood, one hand extended, her expression halfway between welcoming and solemn considering his reason for being there. "Mr. Barton, I'm Lourdes Montoya. Please call me Lori. Thank you for coming. I know you've been hearing this a lot, but I want to express my condolences. Your parents have been my clients since Julius Tucker retired four years ago."

They shook hands and Clint was surprised at the strength and warmth in her grip. She sat down and he took the left chair facing the desk. "Please, call me Clint, and thank you for seeing me so quickly. As I said, I don't need any details from their wills aside from how to handle their funerals. Anything else can wait."

"I'm more than happy to ease that particular worry for you." Lori pulled a stack of paperwork toward her, opening the top folder. "Both of your parents have requested cremation and your mother wants a small memorial service. It's all been arranged with Jeter and Sons. All you need do is let them know date and time."

"I appreciate everything you've done for my parents, Lori. Can you tell me when the wills might be read? Not that I'm in a hurry. We'll wait for my brother. Just curious."

Lori nodded understanding. "Generally, a will may be read any time after the death and burial of the deceased. The actual execution of the will has to wait for official validation and approval. That's done at local probate court and may take several weeks, sometimes longer depending on the size of the estate, those named in it, and how long it takes to locate them."

Clint just looked at his hands, rubbing them together as he again tried to wrap his mind around the fact that his parents were gone. He wished Barney were here so he didn't have to do this. As the first born, it would be his brother's duty to handle all the legal crap. Barney should be sitting here asking the questions and making the decisions. "Got it. I'll go to the funeral home then back to the house. I'm staying in town until the will's read, however long it takes. I can't imagine they had much more than the house and their cars since Dad sold the farmland."

"I can go over it with you now, if you like. Just understand that it hasn't been approved by the probate court yet."

Before she finished making the offer, Clint was already shaking his head. "It can wait. Whatever they left me, if anything, I'm signing over to Barney anyway." He got to his feet and Lori walked him to the door. The office was small enough that she didn't have a receptionist, just a part time paralegal.

They shook hands, Lori's pretty face still sad. "Again, I'm sorry for your loss, Clint."

Clint took the stairs down to the first floor and stood on the sidewalk for a few minutes just breathing deeply. His eyes flew open when a horn startled him. He looked up to see a carful of teenage girls waving. One shouted, "We love you, Jimmy!" then the motor revved and they took off. He'd been hoping that no one would recognize him here in his home town except as Harold and Edith's younger son.

Instead of getting in his car, Clint walked the three blocks to the funeral home. His parents had already made all the arrangements so all he had to do was make a few minor decisions and it was done. A tentative memorial service was scheduled for a week from today day. He hoped that gave Barney enough time to get there. Getting back in his car, Clint drove around aimlessly until he remembered that Natalia was at the house alone. Feeling like a rat-ass b***** for leaving her alone so long, he headed for home.

He pulled into the driveway, got out and went to the mailbox. It was empty telling him that the postal carrier had been told that the occupants had died. Good. Another thing he didn't have to worry about.

Clint had just hit the front porch when he heard another car coming down the road. Clint waited while the sheriff parked and crossed the yard. Something about the look on his face set off alarms in Clint's head, as did his tone. "Could I have word, Clint?"

"Of course, Sheriff." Clint motioned him toward the chairs. "Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Water?"

McCloud took off his hat, again holding it in both hands and spinning it. "You might wanna have a seat, son."

~~O~~

While waiting for Clint to return from seeing the attorney, Natalia had gone for a long run. The alarm on her watch beeped to remind her that he'd soon be home. She turned onto his street just as the sheriff's car passed going a few miles over the posted speed limit without his sirens and lights going, making her wonder what was up.

Approaching the house, she slowed down to a walk. The sheriff and Clint were on the porch talking. Or rather the sheriff was talking and Clint was listening and nodding. Then, his head came up sharply, his entire body going stiff. Whatever the law man was saying, it wasn't good.

Stunned, Clint slowly crossed the porch and went inside. The screen door then the front door slammed. The sheriff kept his head down for a moment then stuck the hat on his head and took the stairs in one leap. He saw her as he neared the cruiser and nodded a greeting. "Ma'am. Are you a friend of Clint's?"

"Yes, I am."

The older man gestured at the house. "He's gonna need someone to lean on for a while." To go by the look on the man's face, it was bad. Very bad. "I just got a call from my contact at the FBI." He shook his head slightly as if he couldn't believe what he was going to say. "His brother just died."

"Died? How?"

"He was murdered. The exact circumstances weren't given to me. All Agent Howard would say is that Special Agent Charles Barton had been undercover with a crime syndicate. They think he was made as an agent and they killed him to send a message."

Natalia nodded, stunned. "Thank you, sheriff." She went to her rental car, opened the trunk and took a card from the side pocket of her bag. "Here's my number. If you find out anything more, call me."

The sheriff took the card, giving it a quick glance. "Can't do that, Ms. O'Brien. You're not a relative."

"Not yet, but soon." Taking a deep breath, Natalia told another lie. "I'm his fiancée."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Don't see a ring."

She looked down at her bare hands. "It's a thirty-thousand dollar ring, sheriff. I don't wear it when I'm working out."

"I'd've thought the fiancée of a famous rock star would want everyone to know."

Natalia crossed her arms and stuck one hip out to the side, adding a scowl for effect. "I'm not a groupie or a gold-digger, sheriff. Clint and I are getting married because we love each other, not so I can use him to further my acting, modeling or singing career."

"If you don't mind me asking, what is it you do?"

It went without saying that telling Sheriff McCloud the truth would cause more problems than it solved, so Natalia lied again. "I'm a ghost writer. Clint and I met when his manager hired me to write his biography. I've been following him around for several months, and one day we realized that we'd fallen in love. So yes, I'll make money from our relationship, but not in the way you think." Letting anger enter her voice, she continued, "If you do a background check on me, you'll see that I am quite wealthy in my own right so I hardly need to marry for it. I also have every intention of insisting on a prenuptial agreement and will insist on Clint having one drawn up as well." When she finished speaking, her tone was so cold she could feel her temperature dropping.

Honestly contrite for what he'd said, McCloud inclined his head. "I apologize for making assumptions, Ms. O'Brien." He nodded, got behind the wheel of his cruiser and drove off.

Turning to look at the house, Natalia prepared herself to deal with this new wrinkle. In just a few days, Clint had lost his entire family, one of which had been murdered. For a man who was already on edge, something like that would completely shatter his world, sending him into a downward spiral. She didn't know if there was anything she could do or say that would keep it from happening. All she could do is be there for him when it happened.

The sound of glass breaking spurred her to action. She hurried inside to find shards of glass and alcohol all over the kitchen floor. The cabinet next to the stove was open, a void showing where a bottle had been. Clint's jacket was tossed carelessly on the table. She cleaned up the mess then went looking for him.

"Clint?" There was no answer and Natalia didn't expect one. On the second floor, she opened each door as she passed, even the closets, but didn't find him. His duffle bag sat on the bed in his room, the side pocket unzipped. Inside, she found several small bags containing white powder and another on the floor. He couldn't have boarded the plane with the drugs so he had to have gotten them after he arrived. But that wasn't important. At the moment, nothing was more important than finding Clint before he did something stupid, even if it was by accident. In his current emotional state, it was a real possibility.

Thinking back to what she knew about Clint and his life in Waverly, Natalia came up with an idea. Something the other Clint had said in her dreams about where he would go to get away from everything. There was a tree out back he liked to climb. But that Clint wasn't this one. There had to be somewhere this version of him went to be alone when he was feeling emotionally exposed. She wracked her brain but couldn't bring anything to mind. "Where are you, Clint?"

A slight breeze wafted across her skin. Scanning the room, she found one of the bedroom windows open a couple of inches. She pushed up and stuck her head out, disappointment that he wasn't there making her huff.

Standing in the middle of the bedroom, Natalia was fresh out of ideas, unless… The only places she hadn't checked were the attic, basement and the barn. Rushing from the room, she went to the door at the end of the hall, finding it locked. It used one of those old fashioned skeleton keys and after examining the lock, she determined that it hadn't been opened in a long time, a year at least.

Jogging to the stairs, she ran down to the first floor and back toward the kitchen. The door under the stairs opened easily though it screeched on unoiled hinges making such a racket that she would've heard it had he gone down there while she was in the front yard talking to the sheriff.

That left the barn. She rushed out the front door, vaulted the railing at the end of the porch and ran to the old building, coming out a few minutes later more frustrated than ever. "Chyort voz'mi!"

His car was still there so wherever he went, he had to have gone on foot. But where? And how long should she wait until she called Sheriff McCloud? Being forced to wait twenty-four hours before making a missing persons report was an urban myth. Each incident was decided on a case by case basis. She knew there was an urgency, but would the sheriff see it the same way? He might considering he just gave Clint the news that his entire family is dead.

Returning to the house, Natalia paced the living room floor until she got bored and changed to tai chi hoping to center her mind. It helped some, but not enough. She needed somewhere quiet and dark in which to meditate. The only place that qualified was his parents' room. With the curtains drawn, it would provide a suitable atmosphere. She opened the windows just a few inches for the fresh air pulling the curtains closed again, blocking out most of the light.

Natalia completed her stretching routine then sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor. Closing her eyes, she inhaled through the right nostril and out through the left for five breaths then reversed the process. When she'd done five sets on each side, her mind finally started to relax and allow clarity to get a foothold. And through that clarity, she began to hear music, slow and easy, recognizing it as Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, Mondscheinsonate in German. Even though the piano was out of tune, the first movement segued flawlessly into the second movement, played allegretto. As the piece entered the third movement, it sped up to presto agitato, stopping abruptly before it was completed as though the artist had lost interest.

With one hand on the balustrade, Natalia stood at the bottom of the stairs. Clint sat at the piano with his back to her though he had to know she was there. He didn't turn around as his left hand grabbed the whiskey bottle by the neck and he drank. He wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand. The bottle clanked against a ceramic bowl filled with silk flowers nearly knocking it into his lap. With an impatient gesture, he shoved it back from the edge then dropped his hand back to the keys and began playing Mozart's Piano Sonata No. 11 in A-major. This time, the fingering wasn't as flawless, owing to the fifth of whiskey Clint had nearly finished, plus the drugs from his bag. She had no way of knowing exactly how much he'd used.

Halfway through the song, Clint hit several sour notes in a row frustrating himself. He slammed the cover and grabbed the bottle again, finishing it off.

Crossing the floor one careful step at a time, Natalia touched him on the shoulder. He jumped at the contact and she squeezed tighter, just letting him know she was there. But instead of taking comfort from it, Clint stood so quickly he knocked over the bench, the top falling open and scattering sheet music over the floor. He brushed her aside, his voice harsh and grating, "Ostav'te menja v pokoe!"

Natalia watched him go up the stairs and a few minutes later she heard the shower come on. When the water stopped, she waited to see if Clint would come back down, but he didn't. In spite of the emotional stress, her stomach growled to remind her that it was coming up on dinner time. She wasn't much of a cook, but surely there was something that would do for a meal.

Opening the pantry, Natalia found the canned food Clint had mentioned at breakfast. Each jar was labeled with the date and contents. The saddest were the soups. Several were marked "Clint's favorite" and "Barney's favorite" with recent dates though Clint had told her neither he nor his brother had been home in years. Yet their mother still made their personal favorites every year just in case. Natalia didn't know if it would help Clint to know or make it worse.

Taking down one of the jars labelled with Clint's name, Natalia decided to risk it. She searched cabinets until she found a soup pan, opened the jar and dumped it in. Maybe the smell of the food cooking lure him down stairs long enough to eat something.

~~O~~

When they were kids, Barney had banned Clint from his room. Then the day he left, Clint had gone into the room and jumped on the bed just to because he could. Mom had yelled at him, but he hadn't been sorry. Every time Barney had an argument with Dad, he'd take it out on his younger brother. However, as high school graduation approached, Barney had let up on him, even took him along when he went to the field to play ball with his friends or to the movies. Barney had even tried to give him the car he'd spent years paying for and restoring, but Dad nixed that idea because Clint wasn't old enough to drive. Then, while he was away at school, Dad sold the car. That had been just weeks before Clint's sixteenth birthday. It seemed calculated to piss both of them off and neither he nor Barney had ever forgiven the old man for it.

Now, showered and feeling a little better than he had after speaking to McCloud, Clint took a deep breath and opened the door to Barney's room. In here, like his room down the hall, Mom had kept everything clean and ready to accept the former occupant. But that wouldn't happen because Barney was dead. Dead, and never coming home ever again. Clint picked up one of Barney's football trophies and sat on the side of the bed holding it.

In just a few days, Clint had lost his entire family leaving him all alone in the world. He still had two of the best friends anyone could ask for, Coulson and Jared. The model, Socorro had given him her number making sure he understood that she only wanted to be friends, and he was cool with that. It brought his fake family to four. Five if he counted Natalia.

What about Natalia? Were they meant to be friends? Lovers? More? Less? Anything at all? If this wasn't how their lives were supposed to be and everything was put back the way she said it should be, would they even know each other? From what little Clint had heard about changing the past, it wasn't a good idea because there was no way to know what the repercussions would be. When you returned to the present, it could be totally different than what you remembered if you remembered. And who said anyone would remember anything? But then again, if no one had knowledge of the way things were prior to the change, how would they know there'd been a change in the first place?

Clint had seen a movie once where the killing of a single butterfly in the distant past had so changed the world that it had been unrecognizable except to those who had been on that trip. So maybe Natalia wasn't delusional. The biggest question was why. Why were he, Coulson, and Natalia having these dreams about different lives? Was it a shared delusion? Did such things even exist? Did other people have the same dreams, but dismiss them as phantoms, products of too much spicy food or an overactive imagination?

Clint's head began to ache, and not just from the whiskey and drugs. Setting the trophy aside, he went into the hall, leaning against the wall when his stomach heaved reminding him that drinking on an empty stomach was always a bad idea. He made it into the toilet just in time. Afterward, he rinsed with the mouthwash he found in the medicine cabinet.

Clint had one more place to go. As kids, he and Barney hadn't been permitted in their parents' room except on rare occasions. He hesitated just a second before turning the knob and pushing the door wide. Stepping over the threshold was like walking into a different world. A place that he'd visited only a couple of times, and remembered fondly.

Not much had changed since the last time he'd been in this room. The furnishings were the same, though faded and worn with age. The lamps on the bedside tables were new as were the linens on the bed. The wall to wall carpeting had been replaced with an area rug allowing the hardwood floor to show through. A vanity sat against the wall nearest the bathroom door, his mother's jewelry box, cosmetics, a brush and comb set, and photographs of Clint and his brother cluttering the top.

The closet door stood open, ties hanging from the rack attached to the top of the door. Dad had boring taste in ties. Probably why Clint chose bold, in-your-face colors and designs for himself.

Not bothering to check the ensuite, Clint took one last look around and closed the door. As soon as it could be arranged, he'd give the clothing to charity. Probably sell the furniture and the house. Maybe he'd get lucky and someone would buy the house furnished. The only things he'd keep were some of the photos…and the piano.

Standing in the hall with no real idea of where to go next, Clint got a whiff of an enticing scent. One he hadn't experienced since the last time he'd been home over six years ago. He and Barney had come home when Mom had gotten sick. The doctors had expected a long recovery-six months at least, but she'd surprised them all by picking her life back up within two months. In those two months, Clint and Barney had endured their father's company only for her sake.

The smell of his favorite steak and potato soup drew him downstairs and into the kitchen where he found Natalia wearing one of his mother's aprons and stirring something on the stove. This wasn't just any steak and potato soup though. Mom had a special spice she added to it that, even though he'd tried, he could never quite replicate. She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. "Hungry?"

"A little." He sat down and draped the napkin across his lap. Already on the table were glasses of iced tea, two plates with a slice of bread each and a small tub of margarine.

Natalia set a bowl in front of him and another in front of herself. "I added some vegetables. Hope that's okay."

"It's fine." Picking up the spoon, Clint dug around in the soup watching the colors of the vegetables swirl around in the thick broth. "Sorry about before. It's…"

He stopped when Natalia touched him on the arm, her eyes filled with sympathy. "You just lost your parents and now your brother. That's a hard blow for anyone to deal with. I just want you to know I'm here if you need anything."

Unable to speak around the lump in his throat, Clint nodded while spreading margarine on his bread. Natalia picked up her spoon and started eating. And though he thought he wouldn't be able to choke anything down, Clint finished every last bite.

~~O~~

From inside the abandoned house across the street, he brought a pair of compact binoculars to his eyes, adjusting the focus until he could see through the front window as Clint Barton crashed his hands on the keys of the piano then pushed past the woman. He'd followed the woman from California and still couldn't understand how a rock star and an infamous mercenary knew each other. But they obviously did.

The woman watched Barton cross the living room and disappear up the stairs, the expression on her face speaking of a more intimate relationship than just being friends or acquaintances. If he could get Barton alone, he'd question him and maybe the musician wouldn't end up in prison for aiding and abetting an international terrorist. Though having them both in the same place at the same time was a good thing. He could use their association to capture her and ensure himself a promotion. He'd been doing field and undercover work for too long. It was time to move up to management and a comfy corner office. Okay, so it didn't have to be a corner. Any office would do as long as it had a door he could lock and an espresso machine he didn't have to share.

One hand reached out and came back with cold fries. He shoved them in his mouth and chewed, following it up with a long drink from the soda bottle. The drink was cold just like the food. One out of two wasn't bad when on a stake-out.

Eventually, Barton came down the stairs and went into the kitchen where the watcher couldn't see either of them. Setting the binoculars aside, he checked the weapon nestled under his left arm, shove another into the back waistband of his pants, strapped a third around his left ankle and made sure his knife was in his back pocket. He exchanged the binoculars for a night vision equipped monocular and a Maglite.

He slipped out the back door keeping low as he edged around the side of the house to the sagging front porch, ducking behind a clump of overgrown bushes when several cars drove by. When they were gone, he darted across the street ignoring the vehicles parked in the drive. One belonged to the recently deceased Edith Barton and the other two were rentals from the Eastern Iowa Airport. Just in case, he attached tracking devices to the rentals.

In the back of the house was an enormous tree. With some grunting and swearing, he made it up high enough that he could see in the kitchen window. Barton and the woman, known to most government-run law enforcement agencies as Natalia Romanova AKA the Black Widow, were sitting at the table eating. They didn't seem to be talking much though it wasn't for lack of trying on the woman's part. Barton just didn't seem to be interested. Not that he blamed the man. Family gone. Only a few close friends. Deep into a business that wasn't conducive to forming lasting unions of the romantic sort. Of course the same could be said for his and Romanova's businesses too, though maybe that was changing, at least for her. The sidelong glances she shot at Barton seemed to indicate she had a genuine affection for the man. Whatever the case, bringing her in would be a huge bonus to go with his original plan, and that was to find out how these two knew each other.

About the time his bladder required attention, the kitchen went dark and a few minutes later, the light in the upstairs bathroom came on. He could see in the window, but watching whatever went on in there would've been too much information on Barton or Romanova, though the woman would've been a more pleasant view, but he wasn't here for that.

Going behind the barn, he relieved himself and returned to his bolt hole across the street where he watched until the light in the upstairs bedroom went out. Now that they were asleep, or whatever it was they were doing, he could get some much needed rest himself so he'd be fresh tomorrow for another round of hurry up and wait.

TBC