Chapter 15

24 October 2017, Suites 3800 A and B, Avengers Tower, New York City

"You are home! I thought you did not get back for a couple of weeks at the earliest!"

Clint set down the armload of clothes that he had been holding and crossed the room towards her. Eleanor dropped her head to him, but instead of the traditional Alpha greeting that she had come to expect, he lifted her chin with one hand and kissed her lightly. "I didn't want to disappoint you if we couldn't make it happen, but I've been trying to get back for days. Nat and I were getting your things together, so I can take you back down the hall to the new apartment."

"I could come and get them later, Clint. It's ok. I have other things down there, right?"

Clint grinned, but she noticed that his smile did not quite reach his eyes. "Sure, baby. Nat won't mind if we get this tomorrow."

"Ты должен помнить, что я сказал маленький ястреб." Natasha gave him a look that Eleanor could not quite read and then put an arm around Eleanor. "Your cosmetic things are already in their bag, sestrenka. Let Clint take those and leave the rest."

Eleanor smiled genuinely and gave Natasha a hug, then said quietly, "Thank you for being here with me. You've been wonderful."

A lopsided little smile slipped onto Natasha's face before she said, "Do not be silly, Lenochka. This flat is always your home, too. Now go on before someone gets impatient."

Eleanor looked over at Clint, whose posture seemed very stiff and who was rather fiercely gripping the handle of the lavender ostrich skin travel bag that contained all of Eleanor's makeup.

Clint did not say anything as they exited Natasha's flat and walked down the corridor towards their own. By the time that he had silently led them both into their bedroom, Eleanor was feeling not only sure that something was very wrong, but that she was in quite a bit of trouble.

First setting the purple case on her dressing table, Clint then stalked towards the window. Grimacing at the stale smell in the room, as no one had been living there for a month and a half, he roughly tugged the curtains open and said stiffly, "It is probably best if we talk, Eleanor."

Feeling her stomach drop immediately, Eleanor replied quietly, "Yes, Alpha."

Clint turned around from the window out of which he had been staring and said seriously, "I know that I was gone much longer than planned. I don't usually have missions that go over three weeks, let alone twice that. However, I knew that Nat had you with her, so I hoped that you would be ok. Honestly, I thought you might even be better off, since you adore her."

She gasped with shock, as she looked up at him. "I do, but I do not prefer her over you, Clint. That would be impossible."

Clint continued, as if she had not even spoken. "Apparently, it was a serious mistake to allow the mission to be extended, but I thought you would be ok and the mission really is a critical one. I'm not going back, ok? I've already informed Cap that I'm tapping out for the second part of the mission, so Nat will take my place tomorrow when Cap and Barnes fly out to join the others. I am so sorry, Eleanor. Even Nat thought you would be fine, but it looks like we were...f***. F*** it, Eleanor. I didn't have a clue."

Eleanor interlaced her fingers, as she tried to hide how much she was shaking. Managing to compose herself enough to steady her voice, Eleanor said, "I'm really sorry. I was trying to do everything right, Clint. I will do better next time, I promise." She had no idea what she had done to make him this upset, but she had to figure it out now so she knew what to fix. Whatever she had done, Clint was both angry and devastated. She looked up at him briefly when he did not reply right away and felt her stomach drop nastily.

At that moment, Eleanor felt all the years of strict training rushing over her and heard the words of her comportment instructress, Madame Dierickx, echo in her mind: 'Once you are bondmatched, your Alpha match and your children will be your world. Your own actions will do much to shape that world, but if you shame your match even once, then you can lose everything that you have worked for years to build.' It was evident that she had already managed to do this only a half year into their bondmatch! Every lesson that had been drilled into her was pressing on her mind at that moment. Although Clint had told her numerous times that he did not want her to display the more traditional marks of surrender, Eleanor could not imagine how else to respond. She dropped her head and held her hands out in front of her exactly like they had practiced at school.

Yet, instead of appearing uncomfortable, Clint nodded as he put his right hand over them briefly. However, he let it fall it again almost immediately as he watched her with a frown. "That isn't necessary, Ellie. I'm not blaming you. I blame me."

Eleanor knew that was not a good thing to hear. She had truly made a mess of whatever it was she had done. He hadn't reacted positively to her gesture, nor had he dismissed the need for it like he usually did with any traditional signs of respect.

As Eleanor felt the waves of panic bringing her to a severe amount of nausea, she just managed to focus her mind enough to hear Clint continue flatly, "I think that it would be a good idea if we talk with an analyst, who is used to working with guardian-class Omegas. She can try to help you figure things out, I guess. I never liked the SHIELD therapists, but this one is supposed to be really good at this. Barnes has been bringing her in to see his match, which is about the best recommendation I can imagine."

Her cheeks flushed with mortification, Eleanor gasped out, "Of course. If you think it is a good idea, then I will do it."

Clint shrugged miserably and said, "I don't know what is a good idea, but we have to try something to help you, Ellie. I cannot have you feeling like this and not do something. I just can't lose you, ok? I won't recover from that."

Still clueless as to what she had done wrong, Eleanor felt even more confused by his declaration. "I wouldn't leave you, not ever. Please, please don't say things like that! Why would you think that I want to go away?"

"Are you actually serious, Eleanor? Could it possibly be because you are f***ing scraping yourself all over your thighs with needles? And you told Nat that you hate everything about yourself. F***." Clint's eyes blazed with anger, but his face was drawn and miserable. "What kind of man would I be if I wasn't terrified by that? I had no clue. No f***ing clue, baby. How didn't I know that my match was so unhappy with our bondmatch that she felt like she needed to hurt herself?"

Eleanor opened her eyes wide and stared at him. This was about that. And he misunderstood completely. That wasn't how things were at all!

Stupidly, she had hoped that he wasn't still upset, since it had been days since Natasha had forced her to tell him and all their video calls had seemed ok during that time. Yet, when she had been at school, Dr Macaveo had warned all the students during treatment that if they relapsed, they would likely lose all their match's respect. As much as they understood physical fragility, Alphas did not like mental weaknesses. It seemed that Dr Macaveo might have been right. Mortified, Eleanor whispered, "Oh!"

Clint's eyes blazed with fear and anger. "Yeah, so, I want to do whatever I got to do so you aren't harming yourself with a needle every day. F*** me. I never thought I'd ever have to say that sentence in my life, Eleanor."

Her anxiety was reaching critical levels. She would not be able to keep from passing out or throwing up if she could not calm down. Eleanor stammered placatingly, "I-I promise that I haven't done that since the day Natashenka found out about it. I wanted to, but I didn't."

Clint clenched and unclenched his fists at his side, as he explained gruffly, "Ok, you see, that doesn't make me feel as much relief as you apparently believe it should. Obviously, yeah, I'm glad you aren't harming yourself now, baby. But you still want to. So, I'm still worried, ok? And it said a lot to both Nat and me that you wouldn't promise her that you were not going to do it again. You have never before refused anything she asked you to do. So, yeah, I'm still pretty freaked out, Ellie. I don't know if I should take you straight to the Omega ward at Weill Cornell and have them admit you for observation or if this is something that can be handled at home. Is this something that you've been doing the whole time? I don't f***ing know, Ellie, because you don't talk to me about anything real. From the moment that I met you, as much as I've been aching to get to know the real you, you've stayed hidden. I got no idea what's going on in your head, so I really can't do s*** to help you or protect you or any of the things that I'm supposed to do as your Alpha. So, I'm not asking anymore, Eleanor, I'm telling you that you are going to be honest with me now. How badly are you hurting yourself? Are you suicidal?"

Eleanor impulsively grabbed his hand and lifted it to her cheek, as she watched him fearfully. "No, Clint, I would never. I am not going to do anything like that. All I've ever done is prick or scratch myself with the needle, I promise, and only for those few days. I'm sorry. I cannot just make myself not want to do it yet. I can get better, really. I just didn't want to promise Natashenka that I'd stop, since I didn't want to have to disobey or break my promise if the urge got too strong. I knew that I wasn't in control yet. So, I thought it was better to be honest, wasn't it?"

"Yes, of course. We don't want you to lie, baby." Clint groaned and shoved his hands into his hair. His expression was both wild and fearful, as he continued saying, "S***. I just am horrified that you still want to harm yourself. Ellie, I would slaughter anyone who gave you anything greater than a papercut, ok? That's not exaggeration. I would actually break the spine of someone who dared to touch you. How am I supposed to handle you hurting yourself? And I want to fix it, but I don't really even know what is wrong. Why do you feel like you have to do that? What am I not doing that you need?"

Feeling the tell-tale prickling along her neck that told her she was near to passing out, Eleanor asked tremulously, "May I sit down, please?"

Clint surged forwards and guided her onto the bed next to him with his arm wrapped around her. "Yeah, of course. I am sorry, baby. This ok?"

She leant into him, seeking comfort as she tried to gather her thoughts. It was too difficult, however, as all she seemed capable of noticing a myriad of wonderful things about him. How warm he was. That he was finally right there with her again. How he smelled like some wonderful combination of lime, musk, and pepper. That he hadn't shaved in days and his hair was more of a mess than normal. How his dark grey t-shirt had a suspicious stain splattered along the side, which someone had inexpertly tried to wash out. How his tactical pants—she really thought he should never wear anything other than those type of trousers—had several rips and one small burn hole. His boots were coated in dust and grime. He had clearly walked right off the quinjet and come to find her without showering, changing, or perhaps even debriefing. He was much, much more than 'just worried'.

Eleanor lowered her head and threw all her energy into exuding submission as she pleaded, "Don't send me away to the hospital, Alpha, please. Please. I don't want to go through that again."

Clint had been about to speak, but stopped and stared down at her with an expression of horror on his face. "Again?"

"Treatment. It was effective, but horrible. I am sorry that I relapsed, but it was only for two weeks. I've been good for days and I haven't had any urge since that last time. If I do everything that the analyst says, won't you let me stay at home?"

"You've been treated for this kind of thing before?"

She had put herself in the midst of the fire now, so she might as well go all the way. Clint had the right to know, since she wasn't as cured of the autolavoma as she had hoped. "Yes, when I was at school. They assess you when you enter. I had to attend six weeks of an intensive programme before school began, then continue therapies throughout the first year. I was checked daily by Matron to be certain that I hadn't relapsed. My aunt kept that up when I got home for ages. I explained it to Natalia; didn't she tell you?"

Clint ground his teeth together as he replied angrily, "No. She said that you had trouble with maladaptive coping mechanisms in the past, but she didn't give me details. I figured she meant panic attacks or negative self-talk. Your school treated you? Was it a rehab centre? I thought you went to one of those fancy Omega finishing schools."

"I'm sorry, but I am not sure what a rehab centre is. My school is just what you thought: actually, it is the most selective finishing school in the Northeast so they are quite severe about insisting on the quality of graduates they produce. More than half of the girls in my year had anxiety-based psychiatric disorders, but if we wanted to continue at North Shore then we had to complete all therapy, follow anti-recidivism protocols, and diligently study. We are never supposed to talk about this, you know."

"More than half of you? Holy s***! Is that normal for Omegas?"

Surprised that he had reacted the same way as Natasha, Eleanor replied honestly, "I don't know, honestly. I guess so? I think it probably is common for we guardian-class, but maybe girls from my background are more susceptible because of the high expectations. I can tell you that every Omega currently living in this building went through the treatment programme."

Clint stood back up and exclaimed, "Holy s***, Eleanor! Is this something that most people know? Did Cap and Barnes know beforehand?"

"No, no, of course it is not something that people generally know. It's considered a shameful thing, Clint, so we aren't going to tell someone unless we have to. Our siblings usually know of course, but some parents keep it quiet even from them. Bucky knows now, of course, since Emilie still struggles with her eating even now. Should I not have told Natashenka about my past? I didn't think about it. It seemed so natural to be honest with her when she asked, but she isn't my match. You are, so I should have told you first. I am so sorry. Sometimes I am not sure what boundaries you want me to keep with her. I should do better."

Clint waved his hand with annoyance. "No. I've told you that you don't have to keep secrets from Nat. She, on the other hand, keeps lots of secrets even from me, d*mn it. So, all this secrecy means that Cap probably doesn't know that his match has apparently suffered from some severe anxiety-based psychological issue?"

"No, he doesn't. Oh, golly, and I should not have told you about that either! That was a serious breach of confidence on my part. Clémence is so terrified that Steve will find out. Please, please do not let anything slip."

"This the kind of thing that we Alphas need to know about our matches though, Eleanor. If we are supposed to protect and care for you, then we need all the information to do so properly. I needed to know this beforehand, so I could make the right decisions to support you."

She dropped her head in surrender yet again and exuded as strongly as possible. "I am so sorry. I did not realise that you would want to know. I promise that I didn't realise that you would prefer to be told. And I never thought I'd relapse. Not ever. I had it under control for four years."

"Are there other things that you need to tell me? Other secrets that you hid away because that is the 'approved' or traditional way? NOW is the time to tell me, Eleanor. I won't be happy if you keep something else hidden."

She shrank back from him and stammered, "I-I don't think so. Unless…do you need to know about the medications I take? We've never talked about that and they were given to me as part of treatment."

"Probably. I know about the pill your doctor has you take every night. Then there is the sedative. What are they?"

"The pill at night is for anxiety. I don't know the name of it, since they never said. And the sedative is lor-something. I forget."

"Lorazepam?"

"Maybe. That sounds possible."

"That is Ativan. Depending on the dose, that can be strong stuff. Are they monitoring your usage?"

"I don't know. I guess? I never have to ask for more. They just know when to send another prescription to the dispensary, so I suppose they must."

"Yeah, I think I'll be the one going to the OPS dispensary next time you need your meds. I gotta know what they're giving you, Ellie. I definitely don't like how often you take that sedative, especially if it is Ativan. That s*** is addictive."

Started, she first flashed a nervous look at Clint, then flushed hotly as she nodded acquiescence.

Clint boomed angrily, "What do I need to know? Why did you react like that? Have you had trouble with substance abuse in the past?"

Eleanor squeaked with fear and insisted, "No! No, I promise, never."

"Well, you exuded intense fear just there, so I need to know why."

"Not me, Clint, but I know a girl who did. She was given the sedatives when she was young, since she has terrifying anxiety. She was extremely dependent on them when she got to school and treatment was awful for her. I don't understand why her physician and OPS didn't notice it, since they are the ones in charge of our prescriptions and dispensaries."

"She might have been getting her pills somewhere else."

"The only way for that to happen was if her family helped her and I don't think that is possible. They are so disgusted by her former sedative dependence even now. Anyway, she could not have gone elsewhere on her own, Clint, especially as a young, female Omega child. Therefore, OPS ought to have been aware of her usage, since all guardian-class prescriptions are managed by OPS dispensaries through our local state's Omega Wellness Assurance plan. Don't Alphas have something similar?"

Clint stared down at her coldly. "No. We get our medicine at pharmacies like the rest of America. Omega Wellness Assurance is a government initiative for Omegas only. Your plan is more extensive because of your rating, but all Omegas are covered by the various state OWAs and are not eligible for regular health insurance."

"Really? I thought pharmacies only carried Beta medicines."

Clint watched her for a moment and then said seriously, "There are no such thing as Beta medicines, Eleanor. All drugs that Betas use, Alphas and Omegas can, too."

"Really? But…are you sure?"

Clint huffed with annoyance, but then pushed himself to say more gently, "Occasionally the arcanthrogen hormone causes an interaction, so Alphas need a different dosage. There are a few meds just for Alphas, but they are only used to treat problems with our different biology. I'm sure that is true for Omegas, too, since Alphas and Betas don't produce peneloprone."

"Oh. So, that is why we have to see only physicians who are Omega specialists? The effects of peneloprone are that complicated?

Clint shoved his fingers into his beard and raked them back and forth as he tried to calm himself down. Then he groaned. "I don't have a clue, Eleanor. Maybe they taught that s*** in school. However, I don't know, as I didn't even get as far as finishing algebra before I dropped out. SHIELD does have specialists for internal medicine that treat any level-3 Alpha or above. Maybe arcanthrogen is weird in some way like peneloprone. I don't f***ing know. I don't know s*** about your Omega biology either, but I still cannot believe that it requires being drugged by sedatives all the time."

Eleanor recoiled and looked up at him in surprise. "Do you believe that I'm drugged?"

"No, not you, Eleanor. Your 'friend'." Clint stopped still and turned towards Eleanor. "Aw, s***. It's Clémence, isn't it?"

"Oh gosh. Please, please, please don't tell Captain Rogers. Please."

"That is the kind of s*** that a man needs to know about his match, Eleanor. Cap is going to feel very betrayed if she doesn't tell him very soon. They've only been bondmatched about a week, so it's early still. At this point, honestly, he'd probably forgive her anything."

Eleanor was huddled over her knees and rocking back and forth in misery. She didn't look up at him as she explained, "Emilie and I already tried to convince her to tell Captain Rogers, but she is utterly terrified that he will be disgusted by her if he knows. We cannot pressure her any more yet, Clint."

As he started pacing the floor again, Clint's expression softened. "Poor kid. It doesn't sound like it was her fault anyway. These OWA doctors were drugging the s*** out of her for years apparently. Then she had to detox and get treated like cr** at this school of yours for taking meds that her doctors gave. I've always hated doctors."

"But that isn't a normal thing, Clint. I've never heard of anyone else who had that trouble. This was just a horrible exception. I'm sure that the OWA did something about her physician, so it wouldn't happen to anyone else."

"Maybe. I don't really trust those f***ers, since they are connected to OPS. That's why I want to find out what you are taking. Your health is too important to screw around with, Eleanor."

Uncertain what he wanted her to say and secretly horrified that he felt she might be taking too many drugs, Eleanor made a guess and replied uneasily, "Thank you."

"Are you stable right now, Eleanor? I don't need to take you over to Weill Cornell? I know that I'm pretty upset right now, so I am probably frightening you and doing this all wrong. I know that I gotta calm down, baby. I'm sorry. I'm just not sure what I'm supposed to do keep you safe. What do you need right now?"

Eleanor shook her head. She reached her hands out and begged, "Please don't put me away, Clint. I will do anything you think that I should. I will do any therapies you want. Just don't send me away. Please?"

Finally, Clint stopped his jittery pacing and stood in front of her. "I wouldn't put you away. Is that what you think I meant?"

As soon as he got near enough, Eleanor convulsively gripped his left upper arm overtop where the faded angry green and blue swirls of an old tattoo that he had gotten when he was a mercenary was showing underneath the edge of his torn short sleeve. Clint knelt down in front of her and lifted her hands off his arm and pressed kisses on the backs of each one. "Baby, I'm not going to let them take you away from me. Never. Maybe you don't realise how serious I am, but if anyone has the mistaken idea they are going to keep you from me, then I can fix that with an arrow or a bullet really fast. If they actually touch you, well…I'll just take my time but the result will be the same."

Eleanor breathed out with relief. "You really would, wouldn't you?"

"I would and then I'd sleep like a baby once I had you back in my arms and they were rotting six feet under. No one is ever, not ever, going to take you away, Ellie."

She looked at the desperately sincere expression in his eyes and then said with a sob, "Thank you. I don't want to be away from you Clint. Not even a day."

"The only thing that will take me away is work. I promise. Now, will you tell me about this treatment s*** that they do to you? I gotta know what you're so afraid of, baby."

Eleanor bit her lip and watched him for a minute more and then explained nervously, "If you need treatment like that, then they keep you for a long time, Clint. They warn us at school about what will happen and how much worse than the pre-term treatment at school was. They will do the chloral drops, which were awful. I had the most terrifying dreams. Or they might do electro-sedation. There is nothing worse than that. I promise that I won't self-harm again ever."

Clint stood up from where he'd been kneeling and stared down at her in horror. "Holy s***, Eleanor. They were giving you chloral hydrate and doing electroshock? Are you f***ing kidding me?"

"I-I-I don't know. Why are you angry? Those are the usual treatments for anchodia and teleiomania. They fixed me. I messed up, but I won't do it again. I really won't."

"Ellie, I don't know what either of those things are."

Eleanor looked away and took a deep breath. "Omega-specific psychiatric complexes. Some of us are weaker, so we need extra help learning to handle all the requirements of a guardian-class life. The analysts at school determined that my aunt had not been able to properly prepare me, since she was only an A-rated Omega. Also, my father was too lenient with me. He did not hire any instructors to begin any of my serious instruction until I was 10. Before then, all I had was my aunt, who worked with me on reading, arithmetic, penmanship, French and Italian, deportment, traditional harp, and the catechism."

Dumbfounded, Clint sat down next to her and laid a hand on her knee as he asked, "That is not considered serious instruction?"

Eleanor shook her head and looked at him as if trying to be sure his question was not a trap. "Not if I was to go to North Shore Young Ladies' Preparatory when I was 16. Sixty percent of the girls who attend are legacies like Emilie and Clémence, so it is extremely difficult to get one of the remaining 4 or 5 slots each year. My family is from Virginia, so all the females in my family go to Lynchburg Academy for Ladies. Well, except for my sister, since she is a Beta. Anyway, as it was, even though my Father offered a bequest and I had letters of recommendation from two graduates, I think I was selected because I am an AAA, so I boosted their percentages."

"S***."

"I'm sorry, Clint. I'm so sorry. I really have failed you so badly."

Clint breathed in and out slowly for a moment and then said with a shaking voice, "No, you haven't, baby. I f***ed up and made some stupid judgements about what you need. This was too long for me to stay away and it was too much for you. Nat isn't enough, is she?"

"She is wonderful, but she isn't you. She can't replace you, Clint."

Clint looked down at her and said gruffly, "We can work on this together. I think that we will try the analyst, as well as work on spending actual time getting to know each other more. I've been too focused on training and my job. Then, when we were together, I didn't spend enough time actually talking to you. As I said, this is my fault, Ellie."

"Please don't blame yourself. I should have done better, Clint, and I will. I promise."

26 October 2017, 44th Floor Range, Avengers Tower, New York City

"You ready, Barton?"

Clint set down his Apex 7 and said cautiously, "Yeah, but need to talk to you first for a sec."

Bucky looked askance at Clint and replied suspiciously, "What?"

"You're going to be pissed and I'm sorry. Well, no, I'm not, but I should apologise anyway, since I'm stepping over a big boundary here. So, when I'm done, you can tell me to f*** off and I won't be even angry."

His eyes narrowed into slits as he regarded Clint for a moment. Then Bucky said bitingly, "Well that introduction is sure to make me receptive, Barton. Great job."

"Whatever Barnes. But listen, I know you think she doesn't, but your match absolutely adores you. F*** if I know why, because I think you're an a**hole, but she is so caught up in you that she talks about you all the f***ing time to Eleanor. I think every single time I called Ellie when I was on this last mission, she would mention yet another conversation in which Emilie was worrying about whether you knew how much she adored you. Also, I know exactly what it's like to experience unequal feelings in a bondmatch, so I get it. That is why I decided to tell you that your match apparently thinks you are her hero or some s***."

His expression showing unmasked pain and barely restrained anger, Bucky replied only, "F*** off, Barton."

Clint shrugged. "Sure, whatever. Just thought you could use some intel that Emilie told Eleanor that she thinks you're Prime Alpha or something. Anyway, shall we shoot the f*** out of Stark's new targets?"

Bucky clicked a magazine into his weapon and snarled, "Don't ask stupid questions, Barton. Actually, just don't even f***ing talk to me right now." He snatched up his ear protection and then added coldly, "But I am going to destroy you. Put the targets out to the max, so we get a fairer test."

18 November 2017, Barton Family Farm, Someplace Else

Standing in the doorway as she held out a large mug of coffee, Laura Barton quietly chastised, "Honey, I thought you were finished laying the floor in here."

As soon as he heard her voice, Barton hopped up from the floor and walked towards her with a big smile. "Those three boards are warped, baby. I don't know how I didn't realise it when I put them in last week. You don't want me to put the finish on them and have it look bad, right?"

"Are you sure that you aren't being maybe a little bit of a perfectionist, Clint? Because when I cleaned the floor this morning, it all looked just fine."

"It is just three boards, Laura, and I want it to be right. We're going to live in the house for the rest of our lives, so I don't want to take shortcuts anywhere."

Accepting several of his quite passionate kisses before she shoved the lidded coffee cup into his chest, Laura then replied with resignation, "As long as those are the last few boards, Clint. You said that you were going to have it done by Thanksgiving. At this point, I don't know if you'll even make Christmas, Clint."

"Aw, I'm sorry, baby. I know that I'm a mess. Forgive me?"

"Always. Are you going to take Lila out in the back pasture again for practice?"

Surprised to have been caught out, Barton asked uneasily, "Uhhh…am I?"

"You are. And then, you're joining Cooper for a haircut in the kitchen. Scruffy."

Barton kissed her again. "But you like me scruffy."

"I like you and you are occasionally scruffy. However, I prefer your hair not to look like it needs attention from a weedwacker."

"Aw, it ain't that bad, is it, Laura?"

"No, but it is shaggy. And tomorrow is Sunday."

"Oh."

Laura nodded as she looked into his eye determinedly. "Yep. You're going to church and you're going to like it, mister."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Ok, drink your vat of coffee and finish your three boards. But I suspect your daughter is waiting out in the barn for her secret practice session."

Barton made an uncomfortable grimace as he asked, "I should have asked you, huh?"

"Yes. We are supposed to talk this stuff over, Clint."

"Yeah. I know. Are you really ok with it?"

"I don't think that it matters. She's your daughter just as much as she is mine. She is going to be besotted with projectile weapons of some sort. I'd rather it be a bow and arrow than a sniper rifle."

Barton insisted, "I have never let the kids touch the guns, Laura. I won't do that until they are at least 15?" He looked appraisingly at her and amended, "16? Uh, 17?"

"Maybe 18. I'd prefer 21, but with you as their father that is probably unrealistic."

"We'll talk about it, right?"

Laura nodded. "Yes, Clint. We will talk about it. Better go back to finishing the floor. I have to feed the chickens and fix the sprinkler in the greenhouse."

Barton grinned at her soppily. "You're an amazing woman Laura Barton. I will worship the ground you walk on until the end of my days."

She smiled as he pulled her close and dipped her before planting a deep kiss on her lips. "And I love you, Clint. Always."