Chapter 42: Back to Reality - Part Two

It was as if someone had flicked a switch.

One moment I was lying on a couch in a darkened room, Pinky covering my eyes. The next, I was on my side, hand under my cheek and legs bent into the recovery position. My body still ached like hell, and the bitter, unpleasant taste of dried saliva had now entered the mix, but despite that I felt surprisingly good. Whatever I was lying on was firm, yet comfortable, and under my fingertips I could feel the fringe of some kind of blanket. I tugged, and felt fabric shift around my body.

So…I was back, then. Yesterday that realisation would've had me leaping to my feet as quickly as my aching muscles would've let me, but the still-foggy memories of today cried out for caution. There was someone nearby; I could hear them, conversing in low tones, and through my eyelids I could see the warm glow of electric lighting. Before I made my presence known, I needed to know what was going on.

Keeping very still, I cracked open a wary eye, just enough to see, and felt a wave of relief wash over me. I…was home? Honestly, how I'd come to be in my living room I had no idea, but here I was, lying on the very same couch as in my dream. The blanket I'd felt was actually one of my luxurious throws, and had been seemingly wrapped around me with some care. Not too tight, not too loose, but enough to ward off the slight chill that hung in the air. That had to be a good sign.

"You reckon Clint's going to be done soon?" Vi's quiet tones cut across my recce. She was sitting cross-legged on the rug nearby, a dozing Thera resting in her lap. In one hand she held a brightly coloured tumbler, while she gently stroked her fiance's hair with the other. "Say what you like about him, but that guy really enjoys his showers."

"Vuh…Vuh—" I coughed and spat out a chunk of vintage saliva. "Vi?"

She whipped around at the sound of my voice, her big, amber eyes widening with surprise. "Laura? Laura! You're awake!"

"What are you…what are we…" I struggled to rise, and collapsed with a groan as pain crackled up and down my back. In a flash, Vi carefully laid Thera's head on the floor and was by my side, peering carefully into my eyes with a concerned stare.

"Easy, Laura, easy. Let's get you up," she said soothingly, and helped me up to a sitting position. "Here; I got some water."

I stared blankly at the proffered tumbler, then took it with a trembling hand and raised it to my lips. The water was maybe a little warmer than I would've liked, but at least my mouth no longer tasted like a foot. I took another sip, and smiled gratefully up at her.

"I'm going to get Clint, okay?" she said, and sprang to her feet. As she rushed for the door, she cast a stern look towards the far chair. "Keep an eye on her, Steve!"

I followed her gaze. Strange was sitting, legs crossed, on Clint's favourite chair, and seemed to be enjoying a cup of tea from Lila's glittery pink unicorn mug. Our eyes met, and he raised his eyebrows in greeting.

"Good evening," he said casually. "How are you feeling?"

"Confused. Also, like crap, but mostly confused," I said, and looked around. "Why're we at home? I thought we were in some kind of…office complex?"

"Keame Refineries?"

"Yeah, thanks," I said, and ruefully tapped the side of my head. "Sorry. Things're a bit jumbled up in here."

"Yes, I understand that's a common side effect. You may recall that something very similar happened to Peter Bulgakov."

I nodded, slowly. "So how'd we get here?"

"The police were advancing on our position. It is possible they spotted signs of our activities from the ground." Strange said. "After everything that'd happened, the last thing we wanted was a squad with itchy trigger fingers bursting in on us carrying out some eldritch ceremony on an unconscious woman. Portalling back here seemed like the most expedient solution."

"And the car? Don't tell me the car's still there! Christ; they'll impound it for sure!"

Strange shifted, and his expression became more than a little strained. "That…seems unlikely."

"What? Why?"

"Ah—" he hesitated, "Perhaps I should let Clint tell you."

I smiled, too sweetly. "Strange? While I'm not completely clear on the details, I'm pretty sure I've had a really shitty day. My leg is killing me, my mind is a goddamn fog, and I've just woken up from the trippiest dream I've ever had! Tell me, what happened to the damn car?"

There was a groan from the carpet, and I looked around to see Thera carefully lever himself up on his elbows. He looked…well, he looked about as good as I felt; his hair was matted with blood from a nasty looking head injury, and it seemed as if every inch of skin was covered with either blisters, bruises, or burns.

"What the—" I gave a start, and then a memory flashed before my eyes. For a single, painful moment I saw him lying in a crumpled, broken heap on scorched ground, and felt a pang of sympathy. "Christ, Thera! Are you…?"

"I'm fine, or at least I will be," he said, with a weary grin. "Don't worry about me."

"But, but…" I looked at his injuries with horror. "You can't be serious!"

"A bit of rest and I'll be right as rain," he said, and his eyes flickered across to Strange. "Which is more than I can say about your car, unfortunately. Poor thing never stood a chance."

"Why?" I said sharply. "What happened to it?"

"Well, it kind of got a bit trampled by a rampaging killer spiderbot, and then the parking lot might have exploded," he coughed. "A little."

"A little?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Anyway, the last time I saw it, it was a ball of flaming shrapnel. Too bad, really," he sighed. "It was pretty comfy."

"I'm so glad," I muttered, and slumped back against the sofa. "Do you have any idea how many payments we have left on that thing? I'm pretty sure Clint didn't get Arachnid insurance, either."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Thera exchange a significant look with Strange. "No, he probably…didn't. I see your memory's coming back, though."

"I hope so. Maybe it'll lead me to some buried treasure—"

From somewhere upstairs I heard a cry of 'Laura?', and then the pounding of someone half-running, half-falling down the stairs. Clint appeared at the door, and I caught just a hint of a string-vest and shorts before he rushed forward and caught me in a bone-crushing hug.

"You're awake! You're okay!" He mumbled into my shoulder, and I could feel his tears wet my top. "I'm so sorry. I'm never, ever gonna let anythin' like this happen to you again."

"It's not your fault, Clint," I murmured. "You did everything you could. I know you did."

There was a creak of wood from the corridor and then Vi appeared, smiling a small, mysterious smile. "Oh, he did that, alright. He gave it everything he had."

Clint disengaged and glared at her, silently.

"What? I was serious! You really did!" she said, and looked mournfully at Thera. "Why doesn't he think I'm serious?"

"Because he knows you, dear," Thera pointed out. "Now can you help me up? Clint came this close to treading on some very sensitive regions."

Vi extended a hand, and with some effort hauled Thera to his feet. He swayed, hand going to his forehead, and then turned to me with a bright, if slightly bloody smile.

"So, Laura, here we are! I know that it might have been a bit…odd—"

"You can say that again!" I said.

"—but I'm pleased to say that the treatment itself has been, well, an outstanding success," he said, and looked up into the air. "Inky?"

A loud crackle filled the air, and then Inky's voice came thundering through the television speakers loud enough to rattle the pictures on the walls. "Present."

"Goddess, Inky! Turn it down a bit!" Thera said, with a pained expression. "Report, please."

"Confirmed," Inky said, more quietly this time. "The Eigenbridge Interface was dismantled, reinstated, and successfully commissioned. Three hundred stress tests were carried out at loads ranging between nominal and forty times maximum anticipated load. Assuming there is no increase in load, the approximate time to the next neural breakdown event is fifty-seven years."

"Fifty-seven years?" I asked quietly. "So…I'm going to be okay?"

"You're going to be okay," Thera said, and beside me I felt Clint exhale, long and hard. "It's over."

The room went very quiet. I stared at the mystic, not daring to move or speak lest the bubble burst. Despite the aches, and the pains, and the deep, swirling confusion, it felt as if an enormous weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I was going to be…okay? No; I was going to live! Tomorrow no longer felt like a far off dream or some abstract concept; I was going to see it, and every tomorrow after that! I'd grow old with Clint, watch my family grow from strength to strength, and…I was going to treat each and every morning like the precious gift that it was. For all of us.

"Thank you," I whispered, and looked around the room with a tearful smile. "All of you. You don't know what this means to me."

"To us," Clint took his hand in mine. "Seriously; I don't know how we're ever going to repay you, but if you ever need anything—"

"'Anything'?" Vi nudged Thera, and they exchanged a knowing grin. "That's a dangerous word, sweetie."

"I mean it. Anything you want."

Vi's eyebrow leapt. "Oh, really? Well, in that case—"

"—don't worry about it, mate. She's just messing with you," Thera said quickly. "It's actually against Order code for us to accept payment for services rendered."

"Yeah, but you didn't have to tell him that!" Vi grumbled, and threw up her hands. "Fine! I didn't want their firstborn anyway. He's probably all tough and stringy."

A sharp clack echoed around the room. Strange had set his sparkly mug down firmly on a coaster. "As fascinating as this all is, I'm afraid to say that we shall need to make a move. There's a lot to do."

I frowned in surprise. "You're leaving? So soon? But—"

"—he's right," said Vi. "And besides, Sparky here needs to get his head down."

"I'm fine!" Thera protested. "I'm just a little tired."

"You're dead on your feet, love."
"Well…" I knew I was reaching, but part of me had to try. "How about we set up Nat's room for you? I mean, it's got to be more comfortable than whatever you've got planned, right?"

"And what if your kids come back and find Ronin in their house, Laura?"

"They can keep a secret!"

"You want them to be complicit in harbouring a fugitive?"

"Well, no, of course not! It's just…"

Vi smiled. "I know, and it's okay, Laura. We'll see each other again soon! Probably sooner than you'd want, actually."

"But—"

"But what you need right now is some time alone, together," she said. "It's tough being the second most awesome woman in Missouri, and you can't unpack what's happened today if we're still buzzing around your house."

"Second most awesome?" Clint cut in. "Maybe you should rethink that one."

"Okay, fine! Most awesome! But only until midnight!" Vi said. "The rest of my point still stands."

I sighed, long and hard. "I guess I'm not going to win this one. You're going to be careful, right? Stay below the radar?"

"Oh, don't worry about us," Vi smiled evilly. "It's taken me a while, but I've finally gotten those twits at the Blip Centre under my thumb. They won't so much as sneeze without my hand-written consent. In triplicate."

Strange stood up. "Yes, yes — very impressive. However, if there isn't anything else—"

"—there is, actually," Thera said suddenly. "Two things."

"Of course there is. Be quick."

"I will!" he said, and looked at me sharply. "Listen, Laura; just because we stopped the Eeebie from keeling over doesn't mean you're not still at risk. You're going to need to eat and drink, even if you don't feel like it. Make sure you keep a log or something, because dying of malnutrition or dehydration is still very much on the table here. Clear?"

I nodded, if only to get out from under that gaze. "Clear."

"Good. Inky will do her best to help, but the less you stress your body the better. Speaking of which—" Thera waved his hand through the air, and one of his Wisps burst into existence with a pop and a flash of gold. "—there's no way I'm handing you back to your kids looking like that. In fact, it's about time we all got cleaned up."

"Hold on, Sparky," Vi said. "Are you sure? You're on the edge as it is."

"As long as nobody needs a medic for about the next six hours, I'm sure," he said, and looked up at the Wisp. "Hey, Pinky? Swansong."

For a moment, nothing happened, and then without warning the Wisp exploded into a spectacular shower of blue and gold motes that washed through the room on a wave of icy-cold air, filling it with a warm, soft light. Both my face and my calf tingled in a strange, but not entirely unpleasant way, and when I looked down I saw the lights wrap around my leg, forming a whirling ribbon of energy that was almost too bright to look at.

"What in the—" I began, but there was another blast of frozen air, and the ribbon disintegrated into a haze of twinkling mist that quickly dispersed, dissolving into nothingness.

"See? Nothing to it," Thera said drowsily, and out of the corner of my eye I saw him sag against Vi for support. His awful collection of burns, blisters, and other injuries had vanished, smoothed away by the light, but from the looks of it he was barely keeping himself together. "Huh, there it is again…"

"Where's what again?" Vi asked, and then shook her head. "Doesn't matter; let's get you to bed."

"Agreed," said Strange. "And then you and I need to have a little talk."

"Looking forward to it," Vi said dryly, and cast a quick look in my direction. "Don't worry; I haven't forgotten about you!"
"Good, 'cause you owe me a talk too!" I said. "And some answers."

"You'll get them. I promise. But right now…"

With a bit of help from Strange, Vi supported her exhausted fiance through the living room door. We watched them go, and from the corridor there came a soft whoosh, accompanied by the tell-tale, flickering glow of one of the sorcerer's portals.

"Toodles!" Vi called. "We'll see you guys soon, I'm sure!"

The floorboards creaked, almost inaudibly, and the light winked out. We were alone.

I turned to Clint. "So…now what?"

The answer, of course, was 'nothing'. With a smile, Clint put a comforting arm around me and relaxed against the couch. I smiled back, and snuggled up against him with a sigh of contentment. Vi was right; what we needed now was some alone time, a chance to unpack, unwind, and make sense of today's insanity. Just a little while, and everything was sure to fall into place…

…but before long I found myself twisting and turning as I tried to get comfortable. Nothing seemed to work; I felt tense, itchy even, and everything seemed to be thwarting my attempts to relax. Clint's shoulder was too hard, my clothes felt too tight, and my soft woollen throw scratched and bit at my exposed skin like—

"Hey, hon. Are you okay?" Clint asked. His tone was quiet, gentle even, but to my ears it may as well have been a thunderclap.

"No! I'm not alright!" I snapped. "How can I get comfy when I'm wrapped up in…in this straitjacket!"

With an angry growl, I ripped the unoffending throw off my body and hurled it across the room. That done, I picked up a pillow, placed it firmly on Clint's shoulder, and burrowed my head into it as hard as I could. Even that didn't help, and with every passing second the tension grew until my fingers tingled and little spasms ran up and down my legs.

"Damnit! When did you get so bony?" I asked irritably, and shivered. On top of everything else, now I was too damn cold.

"You want another pillow?"

"No! I want you to stop being bony!"

Clint chuckled, perhaps unwisely. "Okay, hon. You want to order dinner? You know…that victory takeout?"

"Well, I—" I hesitated. Even if I wasn't hungry, the idea of Chinese was pretty enticing. Just then, however, the television speakers crackled and Inky's voice projected across the room.

"Blood sugar levels are dropping. Seek calorie intake. Fluid levels are dropping. Seek fluid intake."

"—forget it," I said, and added sullenly. "I'm not hungry."

"I know, hon, but you've gotta eat something. Inky—"

I leapt to my feet. "Screw Inky! What the hell does she know? I said that I'm not hungry and that's the end of it!"

Clint looked taken aback by my outburst, but his voice remained level. "I know, hon; that's the point. You're never gonna feel hungry, remember? Remember what Thera said!"

"Oh, so now Thera knows what he's talking about? When did that happen?" I retorted. Part of me knew I was being irrational, but a much larger part was too busy being irrational to care. "This is all his fault! Him and Vi! If they'd just taken care of that fucking kid of theirs, then I wouldn't have had to…I…"
"Stood up for a kid you barely knew, and risked everything to do it," Clint said, plainly. "I know it ain't all turned out how we wanted it, but honestly? You were a hero! You should be proud of what you did!"

"Oh, that's great. Real great!" I said, with heavy scorn. "Now every time I have to hear Inky telling me when to eat and when to drink, I can think of how proud you are that I almost got myself killed so damn heroically!"

His jaw clenched, ever so slightly. "That's not what I meant, an' you know it."

"Really? 'Cause it sounded like that to me!" I said, and muttered. "Damnit; I should've listened to Vi! I should've walked away when I had the chance!"

Clint shook his head. "And you don't mean that."

"The hell I don't! It's easy for you, isn't it? You don't have to listen to Inky telling you—"

"Blood sugar levels are falling. Seek calorie intake. Fluid levels are dropping. Seek fluid intake."

"—oh, fuck off!" I shouted. "You know what? Screw the takeout! I'm going to have a shower and then I'm going to bed. Don't wait up!"

I felt Clint's eyes on me as I stalked out of the room and stamped up the stairs, taking special care to hit each and every step as loudly as possible. It was childish and petty, I knew that, but my mind was fizzing so much it was almost impossible to follow a thought from one end to the other. I felt as taut as a bowstring, or a spring wound way too tight, and I didn't find a way to decompress I'd come apart at the seams.

With a final stamp, I reached the landing and headed straight for our bedroom, tearing off my mucky, dust-covered clothes in the process. After a brief inspection, I wadded them up and tossed them in the waste bin, stomping on them for good measure. They were good clothes; comfortable, durable, even kind of stylish, but after today I never, ever wanted to see them again. I exhaled, long and hard, and went to take a shower.

Any dreams of a relaxing wash were dashed the instant I turned the knob. Jets of water blasted from the showerhead and raked at my skin, somehow both too hot and too cold at the same time. I held fast, gritting my teeth, and as I stood beneath the deluge I could feel my tension sloughing away, along with great clods of dirt and blood. In its place seeped my lost memories, oozing into my mind like thick black tar. They were fragments at best, at least for now, but the half-remembered scenes of chaos did a lot to explain why I was feeling so...manic.

Barely an hour ago, I'd been fighting for my life! I'd come within seconds of being utterly obliterated. I'd come face to face with Pexley, and watched helplessly as Vi had toyed with and killed his men in the most brutal fashion. I'd been to hell, or at least a very close approximation…and now I was having a shower? How was I meant to make sense of any of this? Maybe I couldn't, but the knowledge that I wasn't going completely crazy did a lot for my frayed nerves.

Eventually the water became too cold to bear. With a sigh, I grabbed a towel and started drying off, only to freeze when I caught sight of the woman in the mirror. At first, I barely recognised myself; I looked haggard, disheveled, and my drenched hair was plastered to my scalp like a skullcap. I'd seen that before, largely thanks to three squalling kids, but now my reflection was staring back with a hollow, gaunt expression, with hard eyes and an unnatural clench to her jaw.

"Christ, Laura," I said, and wiped away the steam to get a better look. Under the bright bathroom light, once-faint lines were now deep furrows. "What's happened to you?"

"You know, Clint was right. You should be proud of yourself," said my little inner voice. "Or at the very least, kinder."

I narrowed my eyes. "That's rich, coming from you! I almost died today. Several times!"

"And? You wanted to be a hero, didn't you? To be like Clint, and Nat, and all those other 'special' people?"

"Yeah, but…" I faltered. "I wasn't a hero. I was just—"

"A woman who had the right stuff, knew what was important, and didn't back down just because she had to make a hard choice," said my little voice. "Isn't that what Clint said?"

"Yes, but…"

"You made the right choice, Laura. Never doubt that."

"Yeah? And what've I got to show for it? Permanent brain damage? Some choice that was!"

"A child lived who could've died. Nobody ever said being a hero was easy."

I straightened, and ran my fingers through my hair. I still looked like a mess, but at least I didn't look like a cadaver. "No; it sucks. No wonder Clint keeps trying to retire."

"You should go talk to him."

"I'll think about it," I swiped my towel across the mirror, smearing my doppelganger into a cloud of drops and mist. "Now go away!"

I dried and dressed myself in the softest, warmest pajamas I could find. Even they felt slightly uncomfortable, and I could feel the prickling return as I flopped down on the bed and tried to relax. The silence bore down on me, choking and oppressive, and I found myself chasing hazy memories around and around in an endless cycle. It was as if my mind flat-out refused to accept that I was safe at home; as far as it was concerned danger still lurked in every corner, and it wasn't about to let me let my guard down until something, or someone, convinced it otherwise.

"Damnit," I muttered, and within moments I was on my feet and heading for the door. I still had no idea what to do with myself, but at the very least I knew I owed Clint an apology. No matter how twisted up I'd felt, he hadn't deserved that.

I came down the stairs rather more quietly and sheepishly than I'd ascended them. As I did so, I could hear the TV on in the living room, murmuring away at a level that wouldn't disturb anyone else. It was hard to hear what Clint was watching, but as I crept closer the murmur resolved itself into a strangely familiar voice, and then recognisable words:

"...and that's an amazing gift. What it doesn't mean is that you have to be happy all the time! If you feel sad, then feel sad, and if you're angry, then let yourself be angry! Just…don't be angry at the people who survived. It's hard, I know, but what happened wasn't their fault. The only person to blame is Thanos—"

The voice —my voice— went silent, and then Clint called from the living room.

"Hey, hon. What're you skulking around out there for?"

The jig was up. With a guilty smile, I poked my head around the corner to see him reclining on the couch, almost exactly where I'd left him. On the TV was the St. Louis rally, frozen in time, showing myself and Keame facing off in the middle of the stage. I stared, and felt a brief surge of pride. Sure, part of me might've been absolutely bricking it at the time, but the Laura up there looked cool, confident, and absolutely in control. How had I done that?

"What's this, then?" I asked, keeping my voice light and level.

Clint smiled casually. "Nothing much; just watchin' the 'Most Awesome Woman in Missouri' being, y'know, awesome. Reckon I could get an autograph?"

I felt my cheeks prickle. "C'mon, it wasn't that great. Anyone could've done it."
"Really?" he said. "'Cause I seem to remember the Great and Powerful Thera tried and got beaten to a pulp. I'd say that you were as good as Stark ever was — better, actually, 'cause you were sincere. Stark always spent a bit too much time winkin' at the audience, if you get my drift."

"Well, if you put it like that…" I smiled, and came to sit down next to him. "Hey, hon? I'm sorry I lashed out at you. I was being an asshole, and, well…"

Clint shook his head. "No, you weren't."

"Yes I was!" I protested. "C'mon, you know I was!"

"Okay," he said, and cracked a slight smile. "Maybe just a little."

"A little? I wished I'd left that poor girl in the hands of Pexley! Who does that?"

"Most people who've been in your position. It ain't always easy bein' the one picking up the tab," Clint said. "What you're feeling is totally normal, hon. Honestly."

"And what's that?"

"Well…" he leaned back and pinned me with a surprisingly calculating stare. "If I had to guess, I'd say you feel you're senses're on overdrive. It's either too bright, or too dark, or hot, cold, soft, warm…it doesn't matter what it is, it's too much. Am I close?"

"Yeah," I nodded slowly. "Yeah, you are, actually. How'd you guess?"

"The floofy pyjamas're a big giveaway," he said. "But it's not just things, it's people too. Like, you wanted to snuggle up to me earlier, but then you flounced off 'cause you found me annoying—"

"I didn't flounce!"

"—but now you're back 'cause being on your own, seein' everything that happened over and over and over again is…well, it's torture."

"That's…exactly right," I said, and looked at him in wonder. "How'd you know?"

"'Cause that's what it was like for me after every mission, hon," he said gently. "Believe me, I've been there."

"You have?" I frowned. "But I've never seen you like this!"

"I know. You remember how you used to complain about me bein' slow about coming home? This is why," he said. "I always made sure to take an extra day or two back at S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ or the Avengers Compound to make sure I got it out of my system."

"Really? Why?"

"'Cause you and the kids deserve the best me, not the twitchy one who's all strung out on adrenaline and a combat high," he said, with a steely glint in his eye. "I'm tellin' you, some of the most vicious sparring sessions Nat and I ever had were after a mission. 'Specially if it was a mission that went bad."

"So…this is normal, then?" I asked. "I'm not going mad?"

"I didn't say that. I just said I'm pretty sure I know what you're going through," he said, and I shivered as he carefully touched my hand. "But considerin' how you were just after the Snap, I reckon this is how you decompress after experiencing extreme stress."

"By turning into my Mom? Yeah, I know," I said, with a rueful smile. "I'm sorry, Clint — and I'm sorry to you as well, Inky."

The TV speakers crackled. "No apology is required."

"No, it is. You've run yourself ragged keeping me alive, and I…wasn't grateful. I'm sorry."

There was a pause. "Acknowledged. Please seek calorie intake. Please seek fluid intake."

"I will, Inky," I promised, and smiled shyly at Clint. "So, um…are you still interested in Chinese?"

He smiled back. "Actually, I've got a surprise for you. C'mon, follow me."

With a mysterious twinkle in his eye, Clint stood and headed for the kitchen. My curiosity piqued, I quickly scrambled to my feet and followed after him. What had he done? He hadn't had any time to cook anything, and besides, the smoke alarms weren't going off. He also looked just a little bit too pleased for himself for it to be a simple sandwich, so—

—I reached the kitchen, and stopped. The normal white tablecloth was gone, replaced with the ancient red-and-white checkerboard linoleum that I'd brought from our old place, having previously stolen it from my old job. On it rested a small flipchart, upon which was written the name 'Clint's' in large, black letters, and a plate of slightly-stale doughnuts. In the corner, my coffee machine hummed and hissed as it dispensed glops of something that looked suspiciously like crude oil.

"What's this?" I inclined my head curiously. "'Clint's'? Are you going to open a coffee shop?"

"More like an all-night diner," he said, and pulled out a chair for me to sit down. "Back in the day, Nat and I used to get back from missions at all hours of the night, and it was always less 'Where's the parade?' and more 'Where's open?'. One time, we found this grotty little diner down a side street near S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ and it kinda became our thing. Every time we finished a mission, we'd go out for coffee and doughnuts."

"I think you've told me about this," I said. "It was called 'Drips', or something? With a zee?'"

Clint smiled at the memory. "It was a real dump. Heard it got closed down 'cause of a listeria outbreak."

"Lovely."

"But now Nat's gone, I kinda wanted to share the tradition with you. Keep it alive, I guess."

"It's perfect, Clint," I said, and then honesty compelled me to add. "I mean, it's a perfect recreation. There's nothing perfect about whatever the hell's coming out of my poor coffee machine. I hope you're going to clean that later!"

"Believe me, if you think it's bad to look at, wait 'till you try it!" Clint laughed, and handed me a cup of goo with an air of impending sentience. "It's not a proper Dripz coffee if you can get to the bottom without gagging. Believe me, we tried."

"If this is what it was really like, I get why they went out of— Christ!" I took a sip, and almost spat it reflexively across the room. "How? This is…awful!"

Clint took his own cup and sat down across from me, mirth dancing in his eyes. "I know, right? Nat and I had some great times there back before the Avengers got started. Then Stark kinda took over, and…"

"Not a Dripz fan?"

"Not a fan of anything that didn't revolve around him," Clint snorted. "After we had a mission, it was always back to his for debriefing and, y'know, rampant hedonism. Fury told us to play along, an' we did 'cause we were still trying to find our feet with these half-mad gods and science experiments. I'm telling you, though, Stark's pad had nothing on Dripz. No atmosphere, no crowd—"

"—no listeria…"

He laughed again. "Yeah, it was horrible. But it was ours."

"Well…" I clinked my coffee mug against his. "To Dripz!"

"To Dripz," he took another sip, and grimaced. "Yeah, this might take me a little while."

We sat quietly, gently nursing our respective, awful coffees, and for the first time since I'd woken up I actually felt a sense of calm settle over me. All those other feelings hadn't gone away, not by a long shot, but for now at least they seemed to be contained, and I was able to enjoy a bit of quality time with Clint. It wasn't like we got many opportunities like this, not with the kids buzzing around—

"Hey," I said suddenly, as a thought occurred. "Do you know how the kids're getting on?"

Clint's lips quirked. "Fine, I think, although Coop told me to call Vi a 'buzzkill' for him."

"Oh? Why?"

"Not sure, but I'm guessin' that Maisie shot him down. Maybe Vi had somethin' to do with it."

"Poor Coop," I said sorrowfully, although Clint gave me a look that suggested he didn't entirely believe me. "What? Can you imagine how messy that'd get if it went sideways?"

"Yeah, I know," he picked up a doughnut, inspected it carefully, and took a bite. "You reckon they're okay? Thera and Vi, I mean."

"Probably. Strange promised he'd lay off them, and he seems like a 'a gentleman's word is his bond' kind of guy," I said. "But you know, it was nice of you to stand up for them."

He shrugged. "Well, I wasn't about to let Strange just barge in and start throwin' his weight around. Not sure I entirely bought his answer, though. If I had to guess, I'd say the truth is that his outfit's more scared of Wanda than they are of those two."

"You think? I'm not so sure," I said. "While I was being, uh, rebooted, I'm pretty sure I heard Vi and Strange talking. He's keeping some kind of secret for them, and I'd bet the rest of this coffee that it's related to that 'remit' of his."

"I'm not taking any bet involving that coffee."

"Wise choice," I dared myself to take another sip, and immediately regretted it. "But he was telling her that she needed to tell us — or I think he was. It was all a bit odd."

"How odd?"

"When I find the words, I'll tell you," I said, and joined him in a doughnut. "I wonder what it is?"

"Dunno, but right now I'm not sure I really care," he said, and stretched luxuriously. "Haven't we spent enough time chasing them around? We deserve some time off."

"I suppose," I said, and smiled weakly. "I guess it's really over, isn't it? I mean, Pexley's dead, Keame turned himself in, everybody thinks Vi's Ronin…we've won, haven't we?"

"'Sure feels that way."

"So what now? You finally get to retire, and I…what? Go back to darning socks, grouting bathrooms and finally fixing that barbeque?"

"If that's what you want, then sure," Clint said, and reached out to take my hand across the table. "But this ain't over, hon. Not by a long shot."

"It's not?" I frowned. "What do you mean?"

His brow furrowed. "Look, since the Blip we've all been kind of…reacting, right? I mean, part of me's still shocked you're there when I wake up in the morning, and I…well, I just can't get my head around what it must be like for you guys."

"It's…" I smiled a false, brittle smile into my coffee. "Yeah."

"But at some point I'm gonna have to. So're you, the kids, and the whole damn world, and it's gonna be really, really hard. Somehow, we've gotta clean up the mess that the Starks and Nats of this world left behind cleanin' up the mess Thanos left behind, and you can't do that by blowin' everything up," he said. "I guess my point is that you don't have to go back to darning socks if you don't want to. Hell, maybe I should be the one doing that; I'm pretty handy with a needle!"

"Are you kidding, hon? I've seen your cross-stitches!"

"Then I can learn, right?" he said. "I'm not just a tick-infested sack of meat, y'know. Turns out I'm a 'pretty great guy'."

"Vi said that, didn't she? I'm sure I remember that."

"Yeah, and it looked like saying it actually caused her physical pain," Clint chuckled. "But it's your second chance. Nobody says you have to spend it putting the world to rights. If you want to do that? I'm right behind you, but if you want to go back to how it was before the Snap, then I'm not gonna judge."

"Thanks, hon, but I'm not sure I can go back to how it was before. Not anymore," I said, with a sigh. "It kinda feels like it'd be an insult to Nat's memory. She didn't sacrifice herself just so I could watch more TV!"

Clint squeezed my hand. "No, hon; she died so you could do whatever you wanted with whatever time you've got left. If that means you just want to veg and watch a bunch of home improvement shows, then you know what? I reckon she'd be happy."

"Yeah. Maybe," I said, and looked down at my coffee. "I'm sorry, but I think I'm going to fail the Dripz challenge. There's no way I'm going to finish this glop."

"You mean there's no way you're going to finish this glop…tonight," Clint said, with a wicked grin. "I'm pretty sure this stuff'll keep for weeks."

"Wouldn't surprise me," I gave the coffee another long, hard look, and nudged it to one side. "I don't know about you, but I'm just about ready for today to be over. It feels like it's gone on forever."

"Oh, it's not quite over yet," Clint said, and his gaze shifted to a point over my shoulder. "In fact…"

I turned in my seat. Through the kitchen window I could see the glow of distant headlamps, lighting up the hills as they raced down the lane towards us.

"Who's visiting us at this hour?" I said, and gave Clint a confused look. "Scratch that; who's visiting us at all?"

Clint grinned. "Oh, they're not visiting. More like…returning."

"Returning? What do you…wait—" my eyes went wide. "—is that the kids?"

The grin broadened. "Maybe."

"But why? When? How?"

"I figured you could do with a bit of a pick-me-up, so I offered Maisie a bit extra if she brought 'em home," he said, and then his expression turned a bit sheepish. "That girl can haggle like a pro."

"That doesn't surprise me."

"And I know you're missing 'em, hon," he went on. "After today— whoa!"

I whirled to my feet, knocking my cup and chair to the floor as I raced out of the kitchen to grab my heavy coat. In that instant, Keame, Pexley, even the List…none of that mattered. What mattered was that my children were coming home, and it took all my willpower to stop myself from ripping the front door off its hinges and running barefoot across sharp gravel to greet them.

"Hey, hon. Slow down!" Clint said, emerging from the kitchen, with thick black coffee dripping down his top. "Seriously; you're gonna scare 'em!"

I stopped, boots in hand, and when I finally found my voice it was as a weak, tremulous whisper. "I almost died today, Clint. If it hadn't been for you, and Thera, and Vi and Strange and a whole load of luck, then the last time I would've seen them would've been breakfast this morning. I would've driven away and never known that that was the last time I'd ever see them. You know what that's like, don't you."

He swallowed and nodded, silently.

"So you know why I've got to go to them."

"Sure," he crouched down to grab his trainers. "But let's go together. It's been a weird day for them too, so let's not ram our crazy down their throat until we've had a chance to process it, okay?"

"...okay," I agreed. As quickly as I could, I rammed both feet into my boots and buckled up my trench coat. The sound of an engine drew nearer, accompanied shortly by the crunch of tyres on gravel, and I stood over Clint with utterly naked impatience as he carefully laced up his shoes and stood up. A car came to a halt outside.

"Deep breaths, okay?" he said. I nodded, closed my eyes, and inhaled long and hard. It did very little for the feelings roiling inside me, but at this stage I didn't think anything would. "Let's go."

My breath caught in my throat as Clint carefully opened the door to a rush of cold, autumnal air. A car, old but clearly well-maintained, was idling a short distance away, and as Clint flicked on the porch lights I could see silhouettes shifting around inside. The passenger doors clicked open, and—

"Coop!" I whispered. "Lila!"

—there they were, emerging, blinking, into the light. My heart gave an almighty jolt, and with a surge of pure, wild emotion I leapt from the porch and raced towards them, arms outstretched and coat flapping wildly behind me.

"Coop! Lila!"

Throwing caution to the wind, I lunged forward and caught them both in a single, crushing hug, and held them with an iron grip as the tears flowed freely.

"My babies!" I sobbed. "Oh, I've missed you. I've missed you so much!"

"Mom? What's wrong?" Coop said. He sounded genuinely unnerved. "Mom!"

"Are you okay, Mommy?" Lila asked quietly. "Whatever's wrong, you can tell us. We love you."

"I…I—" I faltered, and felt Clint's comforting hand on my shoulder.

"It's alright, kids. Your mom's just had a hard day," he said, and then his tone turned distinctly wry. "Turns out bein' the Most Awesome Woman in Missouri is a tough gig."

There was a quiet cough from the side of the car. I looked up, quickly dashing away my tears with the back of my hand, and saw Maisie come around the trunk leading a very tired Nate by the hand. Our eyes met, and she gave me a bright, but sympathetic smile.

"Hey, Mrs B. You got room in that hug for one more?" she said, indicating my youngest with her free hand.

"Two more," I said breathlessly, and in the dim light I saw her eyes shine with gratitude. "Always."

Maisie surged forward with a low cry, drawing Nate into the circle, and as I dissolved into tears once more I felt her arms, and the arms of my children and my husband wrapping around me in a tight, supportive, loving hug. The world around us fell away, and for a single, beautiful moment we stood together in the crisp night breeze.

"Kinda makes everything worthwhile, doesn't it?" Clint murmured, apparently reading my mind. I smiled, and did my best to wipe away my tears with my free hand. "All of it. Every last bit."

"So what happened?" Coop asked, quietly. "We saw the clips! You were up on that stage, and then Ronin — I mean Vi, she…"

"I know," I said, and added quickly, "And I'm sorry, Coop. I promised you something I shouldn't have. You were right to be mad with us."

He shook his head. "I don't care about that, Mom! I was…scared, I guess."

"We were all scared!" Lila piped up. "Why was she trying to kill you, Dad? Did you make her mad?"

"Nah, she's always been a bit mad," Clint snorted, and reached out to ruffle Lila's hair. "And she wasn't trying to kill me, sweetheart. Not really."

"Then what was she trying to do? What was—"

"Hold on, Lil!" he chuckled, but his expression turned serious as he caught my eye. "We're gonna have to tell 'em, y'know. Better us than the Internet."

"Are you sure?" I said. "But—"

"I got this, hon. Don't worry," he said, with a roguish wink. "Hey, kids? You wanna hear about how your Mom kicked ass up and down the state?"

"Yeah!" Lila said, bouncing up and down excitedly. "We can camp out in the living room again and have hot chocolate and—"
I laughed, almost despite myself, and put out a hand to stop Lila before she knocked Nat over. "Whoa there, kiddo. No more camps, remember?"

"Aww, but—"

"—but maybe I'll make us all some hot chocolate. Y'know—" I looked askance at Maisie. "—with cream and sprinkles?"

Maisie held up her hands. "Oh, you don't have to, Mrs B!"

"After everything you've done? It's the least I can do," I said, and scowled at Clint. "Besides, I've got to get the taste of this coffee out of my mouth."

"And you call yourself a connoisseur," he sighed. "Okay, kids; are you ready?"

"Yeah!" said Lila. "C'mon, Dad! What happened?"

"You want to know? You really want to know?"

"Yes! Tell us!"

Clint looked at me, and once again I saw that adorably mischievous glint in his eyes. "You think I should, hon?"

"I dunno…" I looked at them each in turn, and then smiled. "Oh, go on, then. If you must. But be careful, yeah?"

"C'mon then, let's all get inside," he said, and waved the kids indoors with a grand, sweeping gesture. "This time, it all started with a List…"