Chapter Two: Divided We Stand

With Clint's return, it felt as if a shadow had lifted. Suddenly, the air was split with the happy screams and laughter of our children as he kissed, and cuddled, and tickled, and…just looked at them in gentle wonder, as if he was locking this moment forever in his memory. There were tears, and hugs, and even more tears, and when those were finally spent we lay together, as a family, in the shadow of the Quinjet. Clint's hand found mine, and held it in a trembling, vice-like grip as we drew closer together and stared silently at the swirling skies.

As the day drew on, a slight chill settled into the air, and so I gently roused Clint and led him by the hand back towards the farmhouse. He moved slowly, unsteadily, as if he was in a dream, but I felt his grip tighten as the cracked, ruined table came into view.

"It's okay, hon," I murmured, and gently rubbed his arm, "It's all going to be okay."

He nodded once, distantly, but said nothing. With a bit of effort, I carefully manoeuvred him through the back door into the kitchen, and left him sitting in a daze while I rallied the troops to rustle up blankets and kindling. Those damp logs would take a while to get going, and we'd be needing that warmth tonight. As for tomorrow…well, right now I didn't even want to think about tomorrow. Today was hard enough.

"Hard enough for you?" remarked my little inner voice, "How about Clint? What're you going to do about…this?"

"Whatever this is? I'm going to fix it," I muttered grimly, as I carefully propped the logs up in the hearth, "But that starts with me making this fire. One step at a time."

The sounds of giggling floated through from the kitchen, and I walked through to find Nate sitting in Clint's lap, writhing and twisting gleefully as my husband tickled him on the ribs. Our gazes met, and with a smile I crossed the room and gently brushed his hair back and forth across his head. It looked awful no matter which way it fell, and I was surprised to find myself feeling slightly irritated that he'd gone and done this to himself. Why?

"This haircut really is something else, hon," I said, with rather false levity, "What did you say to piss off the barber?"

"I cut it myself," he said, curtly.

"Well, that'd explain a lot," I winced, "And what's with these tattoos? You know Coop's been angling for one! How am I meant to tell him 'no' when you come back wearing these?"

Clint's eyes turned flinty, "I wasn't really thinkin' about Coop when I had 'em done, y'know."

"I…yeah," I mentally kicked myself, "Sorry, hon. I was… trying to make a joke."

"I know," his lips quirked.

"Kinda fell flat, didn't it?"

"Like a pancake," he said, and reached out for my hand, "Points for tryin', though."

"Thanks," I said dryly. There was a loud series of thuds from the stairwell, and a moment later Lila came racing into the kitchen, trailing a rapidly-fragmenting ball of what must have been every blanket, throw, and soft piece of fabric in the house.

"Is this enough, Mom?" she said quickly, "Are we setting up a fort in the living room? Can we? Can we?"

"Lila-" I looked over at Clint, "You know, the bedrooms might be a bit cold until the power comes back on. Wouldn't like anyone to catch their death of cold."

"Not again," Clint muttered, just loud enough for me to hear. Once again, I felt a small surge of irritation.

"Okay, Lila," I said, "Go and lay out the blankets. Keep them away from the fire, you hear?"

"Sure thing, Mom!" Lila said, "Oh, Dad? Have you seen my Pink Unicorn figurine?"

Clint looked confused, "Your what, Lil?"

"My Pink Unicorn figurine! You glued the leg back on last week, remember? It's gone, and I can't find it!"

"Oh, um…sorry," Clint's expression clouded over, "Maybe if you tidied your room-"

"I have tidied my room! Twice!" Lila snapped, "It's not there!"

"Lila?" I asked gently, "I asked you to go and lay out the blankets. We'll look for it tomorrow, okay?"

"Promise?"

"Promise. Now off you go," I said, and sat down heavily on one of the kitchen chairs, "Actually… Nate, can you go help her? Mommy needs to talk to Daddy."

"'K," Nate hopped down from Clint's lap and vanished with a pitter-patter of small feet. A moment later, I heard Lila's cry of 'Mooom!' from the living room, as Nate piled in to render his very specific brand of 'assistance'.

"That should keep them busy for a while," I said, with some satisfaction. Clint didn't answer, and when I looked I saw him staring off after Nate and Lila, a faint smile on his face, "Clint? What is it, hon?"

"'Dad'," he said, in a voice that was nearly a whisper, "I never thought I'd hear her call me that again, Laura."

"I can't imagine what it's been like for you," I said, in a wavering voice, "But we're back now. You've got all the time in the world to talk to her."

"...sure," he said, and took a deep breath, "So how much do they know?"

"They know it's 2023."

"That's it?"

"How would they find anything out? No power, no phones…except mine, of course," I said, "And I wasn't about to let them borrow that."

"Controlling the flow of information, eh?" He chuckled, but there was no humour in it.

"Trying to prevent a riot!" I said, "I've had to keep them pretty busy."

"Yeah, I can see that," he looked around with some admiration, "You'd never know this place'd been abandoned for five years."

I nodded silently. If I'd been in Clint's position, there would've been no way I could've stuck around either. An empty farmhouse, haunted by painful echoes of laughter and the love of my lost family? No; I would've grabbed everything I needed, left, and never come back.

Clint's voice shook me from my reverie, "So what do you know, then?"

"Not a whole lot more," I admitted, "The last thing I remember was trying to grab a sausage, and then everything changed."

"You don't remember bein' Snapped?"

"No; the world just shifted," I said, "Look, I know we were attacked by aliens, and then half of everyone vanished following this 'Snap'. Five years later, poof, we're back as suddenly as we disappeared. 'Like nothing happened."

"A lot's happened, hon," he said, "A lot."

"Was it you who brought us back? You and the Avengers?" I said, "I saw that the 'Compound got hit immediately after we…reappeared, so-"

"It's a long story," he said abruptly, "And it ain't a happy one, either."

"It can be now," I said, firmly, "We can make it a happy story. Or at least…give it a happy ending."

Once again, there was just a hint of flint in his eyes, and then he stood up and said, "I need to tell the kids, hon. They deserve to know what happened."

"Yeah," I said, and stretched again, "I need to finish getting the fire going, anyway."

"I'll help," Clint said, butI put my hand on his shoulder as he went to stand up.

"No, hon; you need to rest. Put your feet up."

"You sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," I smiled, and tried one last time to make his hairstyle work, "You need to be with your children."

Evening drew on, and as the setting sun drenched our home in ruby red light, the Barton family gathered together in our living room. The kids had done the best they could; four blanket beds covered the floor, safely away from the fire, with freshly-changed pillows salvaged from whatever had survived the past five years. The covers, too, consisted of the least gnawed-on sheets that could be found, and when I surveyed their handiwork I felt a small pang of pride, deep within. It wasn't a luxury hotel, but I didn't care; with the curtains drawn and the logs crackling in the hearth, this would be a sanctuary. We'd be safe, away from the world and all its madness, and finally able to relax.

At least…that had been the plan. Far from relaxing, Clint was as tightly wound as I'd ever seen him. While he'd normally be sprawled across the settee in a languid heap, now he was sitting bolt upright, his muscles as taut as bowstrings and quivering with tension. His eyes were constantly on the children, watching them with a laser-like focus, but the instant they tried to get his attention I could see a mixture of fear and guilt flickering across his face. Did he think they were in danger? No, I knew that look, and this wasn't that. This felt like…hypervigilance, of a sort, but exactly what was going on I had no idea.

"You don't? A man loses his family, grieves for them for five years, and suddenly they're back and making blanket forts in front of him? How would you react?"

"I dunno," I muttered irritably, as I carefully piled the logs up on the hearth, "I think I'd be happier, at least."

"Really?"

Mercifully, my stomach decided that it was dinner time, which was nothing more than another round of the emergency rations and some cold water. After that, my children quietly washed up, brushed their teeth, and settled down under the covers while I stretched out on the settee. Little Nate was asleep the instant his head hit the pillow, but the other two turned over to look anxiously at their Dad. Clint had relaxed during dinner, ever so slightly, but now his gaze was fixed on the dancing red flames in the fireplace, his mind a thousand miles from home.

"So, uh," Coop began, "You gonna tell us what's going on, Dad?"

"Sorry, Coop?" With a clear effort, Clint dragged himself back to reality, "I was…thinking."

"What's happened? Why were we teleported five years into the future? Why weren't you?"

"Right," Clint exchanged a brief glance with me, and then his jaw became set, "This isn't going to be easy to hear, kids, but…I'm going to be honest. You weren't teleported."

"But-"

"You were murdered," Clint bit out, "All of you, and your mother. Right in front of me."

"Clint!" I said, and the irritation flared up into full blown anger, "That's-"

"-the truth!" He snapped harshly, and I recoiled in surprise, "An' they'll be hearing about it soon enough from everyone else!"

"But…but…" Lila stammered, "I wasn't murdered! I was right there with you, Dad, and then you…vanished! You vanished!"

"I'm so sorry, honey," Clint said thickly, and then tears were glistening in his eyes, "But that's not what happened. You see, there was this guy, this…really powerful, crazy guy, and when he snapped his fingers he turned half the universe to…"

"To what?"

"To dust," Clint said, and his gaze returned to the fireplace, "People just turned to ash, and floated away. It happened so quickly that by the time I'd turned around, it was over. You were…"

"Gone?" Lila said, in a small voice.

"There were no words," Clint said hoarsely, "I can't explain what it was like. It was just…"

"Easy, hon. It's okay," I said quietly, " We're all back now. Whatever happened, it's over."

"...yeah," he said, but I wasn't entirely sure I liked the look he gave me, "Yeah, it's over."

"But why're we back, Dad?" Coop said, and added slyly, "And when did you get those awesome tattoos?"

"No, Coop," I said, sharply, "I know what you're thinking, and the answer is 'no'."

"Aww, Mom!"

"You know my opinions on tattoos, mister!"

"Yeah, but Dad-"

"-is old enough to commit as many crimes against art as he likes!" I said, "I told you; when you're eighteen. Not before."

"Huh!" He pouted, but gave up in the face of my implacable stare, "So Dad, what happened?"

"You want to know?" Clint smiled. It was a faint smile, almost imperceptible, but it was there, "You really want to know?"

"Yes! Tell us!"
"C'mon, Dad!" Lila chorused, "Tell us!"

Clint looked over at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "You think I should, hon?"

"I dunno…" I paused theatrically, as my kids looked pleadingly at me, "Oh, go on, then. If you must."

"Well, if your Mom says it's okay," he said, and settled back in his armchair, "It all started with a rat…"

Now this was a Barton family tradition. Few people knew it, but Clint, cool, reserved, patient Clint, had the soul of a troubadour. Every time he came home from an op, our kids would gather round and beg him to tell him where he'd been, and in return he'd spin them a swashbuckling tale of blackhearted villains and plucky heroes, surviving against all the odds. They'd watch, transfixed, as he prowled the living room, leaping from settee to chair as he fought off imaginary Chitauri and rampaging robots with a debonair grace. It wasn't just bad guys he skewered, either; his impressions of Stark and Rogers had once made me laugh so hard I couldn't breathe, and his 'HULK SMASH' never failed to elicit shrieks of laughter from the kids. Watching him perform for them, so full of life and energy, was always special, and it was made all the more special by the knowledge that this was a part of him that almost nobody got to see.

Tonight was different, but no less precious for it. Like all of us, Clint was too exhausted to cavort around the room, but his voice thrummed with emotion as he recounted a tale that was almost beyond imagining. Never mind the children; I was mesmerised, and the room echoed with gasps of shock as he described the Snap, shrieks of delight when Banner brought us all back, and then there were tears as he described Stark's last stand, and the sacrifice that saved the planet and stopped Thanos once and for all.

Spellbinding though his story was, however, I couldn't help but shake the feeling that there was something he wasn't saying. Over the years, I'd gotten pretty good at spotting the threads in his stories; the little details that he'd left out to keep it clean for the kids, and now alarm bells were going off in my head. There were holes in this story; big ones, and the implications sent shivers down my spine. Where was Nat in all of this? He'd barely mentioned her, and at some point she'd just…vanished from the story. That didn't make any sense! She wasn't the kind of woman to just give up, not ever. In fact, you'd have to…

"Kill her?"

My blood suddenly went cold. Come to think of it, where was she? I could understand her not wanting to intrude on our family reunion, but couldn't she have at least called? Surely she'd want to speak to her niece and nephews after five long years apart, right? So-

Clint's soft, sonorous voice intruded on my reverie, "And when the Quinjet landed I saw all of you, runnin' to meet me. It was just how I'd dreamed it, over and over again, 'cept this time it was real, and-"

As he choked up once again, Coop leaned forward and patted him consolingly on the ankle, "We know, Dad."

"You were awesome, Dad!" Lila said excitedly, "But I can't believe you stole my baseball glove! I saved up for that for ages!"

"Weren't you listening?" Coop said, "That was another Dad, from another timeline!"

"Yeah? Well, I still want my glove back!"

"Good luck with that. Thanos nuked the compound, remember?" Coop said, and then added, "I can't believe Stark's dead, Dad. I really thought he was invincible."

"So did he," Clint said, with a crooked smile, "He saved us all, though. We need to remember that."

The room fell into a sombre silence, and Clint caught my eye from across the room. He smiled and winked, tiredly, and for just an instant I caught a glimpse of Clint, my Clint, shining from somewhere behind those tattoos and that awful haircut. If I could just drag him out…

"Hey, Dad," Lila piped up, "What did you do while we were, y,'know…"

"Away?" I supplied helpfully, and she nodded.

My husband hesitated, and then said, "My job. It was all I had left."

"You must've been so lonely," she said, mournfully, "But at least you had Auntie Nat, right?"

"I was movin' around a lot, Lil'," Clint said, and I couldn't help but hear an evasive note in his voice, "There was a lot to do, an' it would've been dangerous to keep in touch."

"Oh."

"She was really busy, too," he went on, "After Stark went into retirement, she was basically runnin' the show. Rogers helped, where he could, but in the end she saved all of us. Even me."

"Really? How?"

"That's a story for another night," Clint said, firmly, and our children groaned, "C'mon, it's time for bed. We're all exhausted, and there's still a load of stuff to do before this place is livable again, okay?"

"But-"

"Dad's right, kids," I yawned, and slid off the settee to get under my blankets. My pillow felt unnaturally soft and smelt of something subtly unpleasant, but I simply couldn't find the energy to move to a cleaner spot, "Time for…sleep…"

Despite my exhaustion, I slept fitfully. How could I not? Sleep often eluded me at the best of times, and this was…well, I wasn't even sure I had the words to describe what this was. I lay there, wrapped in Clint's tight, almost crushing embrace, and watched the fire burn down while my children slumbered nearby. My dreams, when they came, were dark, disordered, and filled with ash.

I wasn't sure how long I dozed, but the last embers were glowing faintly in the hearth when I felt Clint stir. He disengaged slowly, trying not to wake me, and I remained stock still as he got to his feet and picked his way towards the living room door. It swung open with barely a creak, and then a moment later I heard the 'click' of the front door latch.

Where was he going? For just a second, I internally debated the relative merits of following him against going back to sleep, and then quietly hauled myself upright, wrapping our blanket around me as I did so. It was probably cold outside, and he'd need something to keep warm, right? I'd just bring him the blanket, and then if he happened to want to talk, then, well, wouldn't that be fortunate? As a justification it seemed paper-thin, even to me, but at the same time I hadn't had a moment alone with him since this morning. As far as I was concerned, we were due some quality time.

"Have you considered that maybe he wants to be left alone? Like…alone alone?" said my little inner voice. I dismissed it out of hand, and trod carefully between my twitching, snoring children to the living room door. He would be alone, just…alone with me. Surely that was better!

The corridor was dark, gloomy, and chilly. I shivered, and wrapped my blanket tightly around myself as I padded gently to the front door. He'd left it slightly ajar, and I carefully worked at it with my fingers, prying it open until it was wide enough for me to see outside. A large, fat moon hung over the trees, casting our overgrown yard in a pale, ethereal light, and a sense of unearthly stillness hung over the world. It was as ifeverything was… waiting, wondering what would come next.

There was a faint creak of wood from the porch swing, and I moved ever-so-slightly to get a better look. Clint was there, gazing off into the woods with that worryingly-distant look on his face, while his fingers toyed with something small and metallic. In the moonlight, I could see the flecks of silver in his hair, the depth of the lines on his face, and realised just how old he looked. Whatever had happened, it had aged him terribly.

He looked up, and spoke in a low, hoarse voice, "I should've known I couldn't sneak away from you."

"And I should've known I can't sneak up on you," I said, with a nervous smile, "I, um, I thought you might be cold, hon. I brought a blanket."

"I've been colder."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you have to suffer now," I said. Before he could object, I settled down on the swing next to him and covered us both with the throw, "Maybe the rest of the world sees you as a world-saving Avenger, but you don't have to be tough for me. You know that, right?"

"Right," he said. His tone was curt, but the lines on his face eased ever so slightly. We sat there in silence for a while, staring out across the unnaturally quiet yard, while I tried to build up the courage to edge closer to him. I inched across the cushions, desperately trying to avoid making it too obvious what I was doing, but then my fingers brushed against his. He stiffened and reflexively snatched his hand away, out of reach.

"Sorry," I said, and tried to keep the sting of rejection out of my voice, "I know this must be strange for you."

"No, I'm sorry. It's…" he blew out his cheeks, "It's been a strange day, hon."

"Tell me about it," I said, with a slightly wry grin, "I woke up in 2018."

"I woke up in my bunk at the 'Compound," he said distantly, "I was thinkin' we were either going to get you all back or die trying. Now you're here, but the Compound's gone, Stark's gone, and…"

"Nat's gone too, isn't she," I said. I knew the answer, but dreaded it nonetheless, "She's dead."

Clint took a long, deep breath, and then all but whispered, "Yes."

His answer hit home like a hammer, and I felt the world spun around me. Dimly, I was aware of his fingers, reaching out tentatively for mine, and I clutched his hand tightly as I fought for balance. There had to be some mistake; there had to be. Nat wasn't just some random mercenary, paid to die in some random war; she wasBlack Widow, a Avenger, world-renowned for her skills! She was my best friend, my children's honorary Aunt, and the idea that she was gone was…impossible. How could this have happened? How?

But then I looked at Clint, looked at the tears standing in his eyes, and realised that right now that didn't matter. What mattered right now was that he needed me to be strong for him. He needed a rock.

"Oh, hon," I said, as kindly as I could, "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"You know, after the Snap, she did everything she could to bring you back. Everything," he said gruffly, "There wasn't a moment she wasn't trying to figure out how to reverse what'd happened, and when she found a way…she went for it. Whatever it took."

"That sounds like Nat," I smiled weakly, "Always had to win."

"She should be here," he murmured, in a broken voice, "She deserved better."

"You both deserved better."

"I just wish I could've…" he trailed off, and then said, "You know what the last thing she said was?"

I shook my head, mutely.

"She said, 'It's okay,'" he said, "I was begging her not to do it, but she just smiled and-"

Clint stopped, clearly lost for words, and after a moment's hesitation I put my arm around him, drawing him into a tight embrace. He tensed again, his shoulders going tight, and then relaxed with a shuddering sigh.

"She's right, it's going to be okay," I said, consolingly, "Maybe not right now, but it will be. I'll make sure of it."

Silence returned, and as I held him my mind turned back to my children, still slumbering peacefully in the living room. What were we going to tell them? They'd never experienced loss before. Both sets of grandparents had died before they were born, and for one reason or another we'd never had any pets. They'd never found a goldfish floating belly up in its tank, or a hamster dead in its wheel. How was I going to explain it to them? To Nate?

"There's going to be a memorial for her next week. A small one," Clint said, suddenly, "Just for the people who knew her."

"You want to go?" I said, and he nodded, "Are you sure you're feeling up to it?"

"Whether I'm feeling up to it or not ain't the point," he said, and there was a sharp note in his voice, "We all gotta say goodbye, and thanks."

"All of us? You want to bring the kids?"

"She's their Aunt. It's only right," he said, and another small smile crossed his face, "Christ, I haven't had to worry about things like that for years."

"Then… what're we going to tell them?"

"The truth, of course."

I looked at him, pointedly, "You mean the truth like how they were 'murdered'?"

"They needed to know!" he said, "You think the world was any kinder to the people who survived the Snap? At least our kids didn't have to watch people they loved vanish before their eyes!"

"That doesn't mean that-" I bit down hard on my comment. If we started arguing, we'd wake them up, "Okay, fine, but you're going to let me break the news. Gently."

Clint thought about this, and then nodded, "Sure, but I want to be there."

"I want you there too, hon," I said, and then immediately put my foot in it, "But I need to know…how did she die?"

As soon as I said that, I knew I'd screwed up. Clint went rigid, his face draining of colour, and the slowly-relaxing lines on his face were back in full force. For a moment, he seemed to be somewhere else, somewhere very far away indeed, and when I touched him gently on the cheek he looked at me with unfocused eyes.

"She died bravely," he said, with an effort, "And with a smile."

"I know. But how?"

He stared at me, his jaw working furiously, but no sound came out.

"You can't tell me, can't you," I said. Once again, I felt the anger creep back in around the edges, "Or is it that you won't?"

"I…can't. I'm sorry, Laura-"

"No, I shouldn't have asked. It's too soon," I got to my feet, and gave him a bright, false smile, "Just… promise me you'll tell me when you're ready, okay? Please?"

"Yeah. I promise."
"Good. Now come back to bed. If the kids wake up and find we're gone, they're going to panic."

Carefully, I led my husband back to the blanket bed, and curled up beside him while my thoughts gnawed away inside. What was going on? Barring matters of national security, Clint and I told each other everything. It was one of the cornerstones of our relationship, and to have him suddenly clam up about Nat's final moments cut surprisingly deep. How was I meant to love and support him if I didn't have the full story? How was I going to fix this if my husband was going off the script? My mind churned futilely, throwing up a frothy mix of anger and anxiety until finally, mercifully, sheer exhaustion reached up to drag me down into a deep, dreamless sleep. My last thought was that whatever tomorrow held, it had to be better than this…

To my immense surprise, I was right. I awoke to the sound of Clint and Lila laughing, and when I staggered wearily into the kitchen, blanket still wrapped tightly across my shoulders, I found my family gathered around a large care package on the table. It was filled to bursting with food and emergency supplies, and my husband was joking and playing with the kids even as he fended them off.

"I told you, we gotta wait for Mom!" he said, to a chorus of groans, "C'mon, I'm sure she'll be up soon!"

"I'm here," I said, tiredly, and Clint greeted me with a warm, roguish smile. The dark cloud that had hung over my husband last night seemed to have vanished completely, but whatever suspicions I had about that vanished entirely as he stepped forward and kissed me, hard. Suddenly, my heart was pounding and my blood sang in my ears, and…what was I worried about again? I couldn't remember.

"Morning, hon," he said, "Sleep well?"

"I…" I gathered my thoughts and tried again, "What's all this, then? Did you drag it off the Quinjet?"

"No," he grimaced, "You don't want to eat what's on the Quinjet."

"So where's it from?"

"A couple of charity workers just left. Apparently they're carrying out an emergency census, and we're on a list of people who got Snapped. They wanted to make sure we're okay."

"They took their own sweet time," I remarked, and looked hungrily at the package. Even from here, I could see a large loaf of bread and a pot of jam, and my stomach wasted no time in reminding me how insubstantial last night's 'dinner' had been, "Who were they?"

"Never heard of 'em before, though. Some foundation or something?"

"And they had a list with our names on it?" I said, "Doesn't that seem odd to you?"

"Hard to say," he said, "Maybe I'll look into it later, but they looked pretty legit."

"If you say so," I shrugged. Right now, the idea of a breakfast that wasn't just more survival rations was far more enticing than chasing ghosts. Clint could always chase it up later, if he wanted to, "Okay then. Coop? Lila? Set the table; let's eat!"

The charity was quickly forgotten. As soon as we'd finished eating Clint all but dragged us outside, and the rest of the day was spent in a whirlwind of family-friendly mayhem. We played tag in the field, hunted monsters in the forest, even floated toy boats down the brook, and as evening fell, we cleaned out the old, disused firepit in the yard and roasted smores until the stars came out. Once the children were bedded down, wrapped up warm in the living room, we laid out our blankets on the porch and spent time just…being alone, together. There were no words exchanged; we were just Clint and Laura, being Clint and Laura. Nothing else mattered.

The following day was much the same, as were the days after that, all blending together into a gentle, comforting mixture of therapeutic bonding and familial reconnection. It wasn't all smooth sailing, and

breaking the news of Auntie Nat's death was as heart-rendingly awful as I'd feared, but even that brought us closer together as a family. Our mutual grief was a bridge between our divided worlds, and as Clint consoled Lila I saw, once again, more than a hint of my old husband. No matter what he'd gone through, Clint was a Dad to his core, and his daughter needed him.

The world kept turning, as unfair as that seemed, and continued its slow, steady march towards far-off normalcy. On the third day the power came back on, and announced its return by blowing out every fuse in the fuse box. As I worked to fix that, Clint and the children beavered away at making the house livable again. He worked like a demon, cleaning, polishing, sweeping, and mopping almost nonstop, as if by doing so he was somehow reclaiming the house as his own. By the time he was done, every surface positively gleamed, and the stairs had become a serious slip hazard. That night, I made sure that the beds were clean and then broke camp in the living room, standing firm against the children's pleas. No way was I sleeping through another symphony of snoring children, and besides, Clint and I needed time…to make up for lost time. In many ways, I had to admire his restraint; if I'd been in his position, five years of celibacy would've had me climbing the walls.

Before I knew it, a week had passed. It'd been a strange week, sure, possibly the strangest I'd ever lived through, but at the same time it'd been happy. If this was going to be the new normal for my family, then maybe I could forgive Clint's haircut and ridiculous tattoos, and maybe I could wait a bit longer to hear the truth behind Nat's death. Maybe I could even wait forever.

I was wrong.

Stark's funeral took place eight days after we returned. Unsurprisingly, it was a large, showy affair, with no expense spared, and even at its most sombre it managed to somehow capture the glitz and showmanship that had so defined Tony's life. Pepper Potts had graciously arranged for door-to-door service for our family, and we stood awkwardly amongst luminaries, dignitaries, and literal gods as the Iron Man was laid to rest. Clint, never one for the public eye, spent most of the time avoiding the streams of public figures lining up to thank him and the Avengers for their service, while I made small talk and tried to keep my children from causing an international incident. It was exhausting, and by the time the funeral wound down I was a fraught and frazzled mess.

Nat's memorial couldn't have been any more different, but it was perfect. In accordance with her wishes, it was small, simple, and attended only by those who knew her best. As we stood in a circle, heads bowed in remembrance, the little inner voice whispered treacherously in my mind.

"Did you see how everyone was looking at Clint?" it said, in dark, sibilant tones, "So sad, so sympathetic. I bet they all know how Nat died, right? Why? Because Clint told them, that's how!"

I did my best to ignore it, and instead reached out to ruffle Nate's hair. This wasn't the time for petty squabbling; this was the time to remember Nat, my best friend and confidant! She'd sacrificed herself-

"How'd she do that? Where's the body?" the voice went on, "Face facts, Laura. He's hiding things from you, and he's never done that before. I wonder what else happened while you were away?"

I knew, from long experience, that the snickers and snide comments of that little voice existed only to cut me down, but at the same time…it was right! I'd waited patiently, so patiently, for Clint to tell me how Nat had died, but every time she was mentioned he'd either clammed up or found an excuse to change the subject. As God was my witness, I'd tried to be understanding, but how could I let it go when I was surrounded by people who clearly knew the truth? For the first time ever in our relationship, I felt a tiny pang of doubt.

The next week was…different. With each passing day my doubt only grew, as did my irritation with Clint's demeanour. It was as if the scales had fallen from my eyes, and where before I'd seen a doting father doing everything he could to spend time with his children, now I just saw neediness and an increasingly fake smile, topped off with that damnable haircut and those blastest tattoos! Almost overnight, my mood became prickly, fractious, and petty. I stalked the house filled with self-righteous anger, lashing out at the tiniest perceived injustices; small errors were now serious issues, every word was twisted to maximise offence, and when I couldn't find fault with Clint's actions, I invented some. I acted like a woman possessed, and the shame I felt when I saw his hurt only served to fan the flames even higher.

In fairness, it wasn't just Clint that was driving my rage, although my pride-soaked mind would never admit it. With the Internet back on, I was forced to endure a steady drip-drip-drip of information about the so-called 'Snap' from my children. Honestly, I wanted no part in it, and whenever the subject came up I either found a way to change the subject or just left the room. It was everywhere, though; on my phone, on my tablet, and on TV, and so eventually I just curled up with a good book and tried to forget about the world, as well as the accusations of hypocrisy coming from deep within.

By Thursday, a combination of Clint's presence and the unending news bulletins meant I was all but driven from the house. I drifted to the barn, completely alone, and spent the rest of the week restoring my small workshop to its former glory. Like my husband had before me, I polished, scrubbed, shone, and cleaned the space to within an inch of its life, and then got to work on the tools themselves. Did I need a new shadow board? Probably not, but at the same time I didn't need to spend half a day organising my vinyl collection, first alphabetically, and then by genre and year. I worked in a frenzy, driven onwards by a mania I didn't really understand. All I knew was that everything had to be ready, had to be perfect. After all, Clint would inevitably get it into his head to remodel the house yet again, and who would have to clean up the mess? Me, of course!

Deep down inside, deep, deep down, a small voice begged me to reconsider. I didn't really want to be cleaning flecks of dirt off my screwdrivers; I wanted to be inside, spending quality time with Clint and my family! All I needed to do was go back to the house, apologise, and maybe we could pick up where we left off. Last week had been pretty fun, and I found myself smiling at the memories before pure, stubborn pride reared up and smashed them into a million pieces.

"No," I muttered to myself, "Not until he tells me what happened to Nat."

I silenced the voice, and got back to work.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, meticulously and obsessively revamping my workshop did absolutely nothing to address the real problems in my life. Those continued to grow, festering in the background, until they came to a spectacular head on Sunday afternoon. I'd been in the barn, trying desperately to ignore my creeping sense of isolation, when there came a loud shriek from the house. In an instant I was on my feet and running across the yard, when Lila emerged from the back door with a face like a thundercloud.

"I hate you, Dad!" she screamed through the door, and then directed a look of such venom at me that I felt my heart stop, "And I hate you too! I hate you both!"

With that, she ran off sobbing towards the dilapidated archery range, and Coop came flying through the door in hot pursuit. He looked deeply unimpressed when he saw me, and then shook his head angrily and set off after his sister with a brief cry of 'Good going, Mom!'. I stared after them, stunned into silence, and watched as he quickly caught up with her and led her gently towards the barn. What the hell had that been about? What was with that look? I'd never seen such a hateful expression before, and certainly not directed at me!

The door banged open for a third time, and then Clint emerged, "Lila? Lila!"

"What's going on, Clint?" I said sharply, "What did you do?"

"Me?" he protested, "I didn't do anything!"

"She said, 'I hate you, Dad!'. What was that about?"

Clint paused, "She asked me if we could do some archery together. I said 'no', and then she ran off sobbing. I've never seen her like that before!"

"You said no? Why? She loves archery!"

"I can't!"

"You can't?" I said, and saw my opening, "You mean like you 'can't' tell me what happened to Nat? C'mon!"

"I haven't used a bow properly for years, Laura. After what happened to her…I just couldn't," he took a deep breath, and I felt a small pang of sympathy for him, somewhere deep in my anger, "I need more time to get used to it again."

"You mean like you need more time before you can tell me how Nat died?" I said hotly, "And how long is that going to be? Weeks? Months? Years? Never?"

"You said that you understood!"

"Yeah? Well, I thought I did!" I yelled, "That was until I ended up at Nat's funeral, surrounded by a bunch of your friends all giving you puppy dog eyes and sympathy! They all knew how she died, didn't they! So why not me?"

"Because you don't want to talk about anything anymore!" He shouted back, "All you want to do is reorganise your toolkit and hide away reading books! You haven't got a clue what's been goin' on these past five years, have you?"

"Does it matter?"

"It does when it's affecting your daughter!" he said, "You want to know the real reason she's so upset? It's 'cause that Maisie friend of hers ain't picking up the phone! She hasn't called her once you guys Blipped back!"

"'Blipped'?" I frowned, and he scowled.

"Christ, you really don't have a clue, do you!" he said grimly, "Do you have any idea what happened just after you got Snapped? It was chaos! Planes crashed, helicopters came down, there were mass pile ups on the highways! There were fires, explosions and not enough medics to treat the wounded. People were callin' it the Apocalypse."

"What're you saying?" I said, and felt the blood drain from my face, "No. No, don't you dare-"

"If she wasn't Snapped, Maisie could've died in the aftermath," his voice trembled slightly, and I felt some of my anger drain away, "And at the time, I would've told you she was one of the lucky ones!"

"What a terrible thing to say! For Christ's sake, please tell me you didn't tell Lila that!"

"Of course I didn't, but you reckon she couldn't figure it out for herself?" he said, "While you've been hiding down in the barn pretending none of this is happening, she an' Coop have been texting and talkin' to people basically non-stop! They know what happened, Laura, and they're scared! Trouble is, right when they need you the most you can't be found for dust!"

His words hit home, even through my carefully constructed walls of sanctimonious rage. What was I doing? Had I really gotten so wrapped up in my own little crusade that I'd neglected their feelings? I'd never let any of my kids down that badly before, not even once! As I stared over at Coop and Lila, sitting together amongst the hay, I felt a jolt of shame that almost brought me to my knees.

"You're right," I said, sadly, "Clint, I'm-"

I stopped. In the distance I heard the whirr of an approaching motor, and then the crunch of gravel as a car came up the drive.

"-I'm going to see who that is," I finished firmly, and mentally kicked myself for my cowardice. Coulda, woulda, shoulda…

"Sure, but this ain't over!" He said, "You can't keep hiding away forever!"

With a final 'hah!' I stalked away, exuding false confidence from every pore. It lasted until I was sure I was out of Clint's sight, then my legs gave way and I sagged against the house.

"It's not so bad," the little voice said, encouragingly, "Everyone makes mistakes."

"Be quiet," I sniffed, pathetically, "I saw the look she gave me!"

"I'm sure she'll forgive you."

"Be quiet!"

"How about this? If we ask Clint to track down Maisie-"

With an effort I silenced the voice, wiped my eyes, and forced a smile as I rounded the corner. The car sitting in the driveway wasn't one I recognised; it was sleek, metallic green, and from the looks of it I was pretty sure it was an electric. As I approached, the door swung open to reveal a tall, kindly-looking woman with greying hair, tied up in a severe bun. She looked like Mrs Armstrong, one of the teachers at Coop and Lila's school, but that couldn't be right, could it? I remembered her having rich, chestnut hair, typically worn to her mid back, and she definitely didn't have the kind of pronounced worry lines that the woman standing before me had. Maybe she was an older sister, or a cousin? Yeah, that had to be it.

"Hello?" I said politely, "Can I help you?"

"Mrs Barton," she said, in a carefully guarded tone. Even so, there was no mistaking that low, contralto voice, "Do you remember me?"

"Are you…Mrs Armstrong?" I said, and my mind reeled suddenly, "No way."

"What a difference five years makes, yes?" She smiled, thinly, "May I come inside?"

"Of course," I said, "I'll make us some coffee."

"Don't worry about that; I shan't be staying long. I just need to pass some important information off to you and your children. Are they available?"

"They…can be," I said, "We've just had a bit of a spat."

"I understand," she said magnanimously, "All this confusion, uncertainty…it must be very frightening for them."

"...yeah," I said, and felt another stab of guilt, "Yeah. It is."

I led her inside, sat her down in the living room, and then asked Clint to go and get Coop and Lila. He complied, with some annoyance, and then Armstrong and myself made small talk until the back door swung open and Lila came rushing into the room. Coop followed at a slouch.

"Mrs Armstrong!" Lila cried.

"Lila!" Mrs Armstrong said, and I could hear the sudden tremolo in her voice, "And Cooper! How are you feeling?"

"Um, okay…I guess," Lila said, "It's been hard."

"Yeah," agreed Cooper.

"I'm not surprised," said Mrs Armstrong, "And you aren't the only ones. Please, sit."

Both Coop and Lila sat down nearby, confusion etched across their faces. I smiled reassuringly at them, and received a pair of frosty looks in response.

"Okay," Mrs Armstrong said, in a suddenly businesslike tone, "Cooper, Lila, I'm here to inform you that, despite the fact that you have both Blipped, you shall be attending school starting a week on Monday."

"What? Oh, come on!" Cooper threw his hands up in the air.

"Hold on," I said, "'Blipped'? Clint mentioned that, but-"

"C'mon, Mom!" Lila said, "The Blip is what happened to us! We disappeared, and then reappeared five years later in exactly the same place!"

"Indeed," said Mrs Armstrong, "I also have to inform you that you will both be required to repeat your current year, prior to progressing to the next one."

"What?" Lila gasped.

"But that's not fair!" Coop said, "We've just finished our midterms!"

"I am sorry, Coop," Mrs Armstrong said, quite sincerely, "This must all seem very unfair to you. Unfortunately, the syllabus has changed significantly during your time away, and this is the only way to ensure that you have the same grounding as your non-Blipped peers."

"But…but…"

"To help you, the school board has decided that it is important that we integrate 'Blipped' children back into the school as rapidly as possible. Therefore, during this first semester we will be running additional classes for you and…similarly affected pupils. There will also be a number of whole-school social events, in order to give you a chance to interact with the current cohort and make new friends."

Coop and Lila nodded, slowly.

"Finally, we are offering counselling services for everyone who needs it," she continued, "Although you might not feel like you need it now, we would like you to know that you can talk to someone whenever you need to."

"That sounds really useful," I said, "Thanks, Mrs Armstrong."

"Not at all," she said, and got quickly to her feet, "If there're no further questions, I shall see you next week."

"Wait - Mrs. Armstrong?" said Lila, "I've been trying to get in contact with Maisie. Is she okay?"

My breath caught in my throat. Please, for the love of God, let Maisie be okay. Please.

"Maisie is fine, Lila," Mrs. Armstrong said, slowly, "You'll almost certainly see her at school."

"Great!" Lila said, but as she smiled I felt icicles form in the pit of my stomach, "I'll see you then, then!"

Mrs Armstrong was silent as I walked her back to her car, but from her expression I could see that she was troubled.

"You're doing an excellent job," I said, encouragingly, "Really, it sounds like you're trying to cover all the bases."

"We…anticipate this is going to be a very difficult school year. Much like the one following the Snap," Mrs Armstrong said, "In many ways, I suspect this will be much more complex."

"Oh yes? How so?"
"We already have a large cohort of pupils with significant issues. A full quarter of them were orphaned on the spot, and just as we were reaching some semblance of stability…" she smiled, "Don't get me wrong, Mrs Barton, I'm very glad Coop and Lila have been returned to us, but managing this situation will be very trying indeed. At the very least, we expect to deal with significant levels of disorientation and loss amongst returning pupils."

"Like Lila, you mean," I said, "When she discovers that Maisie didn't Blip with her, she's going to be heartbroken."

"And I'm very sorry about that," Mrs Armstrong sounded like she meant it, "But I have a lot of families today, many of whom are in far more complicated positions than yours. I hope you can find a way to let her know, gently."

"I'll try my best," I promised, and closed the door behind her with a gentle click. A moment later, I heard her car crunch quietly out of the driveway and drive off down the road. Slowly, I turned my back to the door and sank down to a sitting position, burying my head in my hands.

"Why do I get the feeling this is going to be the start of an absolutely beautiful mess?" said my inner voice, "At least this one isn't entirely homegrown."

"This is going to destroy Lila," I said, "Absolutely destroy her."

"Yup. Hard to make friends growing up out here, especially in your S.H.I.E.L.D. approved safehouse. Maisie was one of the best things that ever happened to her."

"Maybe it won't be so bad. Maybe Maisie'll be like...a cool big sister?"

"Based on how the past five years have affected Clint, I'm going to err on the side of cynicism."

"Oh Christ, Clint," I sighed, "What am I going to do about him?"

This time, the voice was silent.

In the time it had taken me to turn around twice, it felt like my life had gone from 'idyllic family frolicking merrily in the woods' to 'complete and utter mess'. Everyone was angry at each other, and what made it worse was that inescapable feeling that it was all my fault. The seed of doubt that had been planted at Nat's funeral had grown in my heart, twisted and gnarled, and I'd infected the rest of the family through my actions. The atmosphere became increasingly electric, and in those odd periods when we were together everyone was walking on eggshells. As the sun set, I took to the bedroom where I read almost obsessively, while Clint stayed downstairs and made a series of apparently never-ending phone calls. Often, I'd pretend to be asleep when he came to bed, and spent the night waging an internal war between the part of me that wanted nothing but to hold him close, and the muleheaded part that demanded capitulation and restitution. Predictably, the mule won out every time.

Over the course of the next week, the gulf just seemed to widen further. We both knew it was happening, but neither of us knew how to stop it. Almost subconsciously, we found ourselves in the same rooms, laughing at the same jokes, even reminiscing about happier times, but none of it felt real. We talked about everything except the elephant in the room, and each day I hoped against hope that he'd just admit he was wrong! If he'd just do that one small thing, we could go back to how things used to be, when the kids were happy, he was happy, I was happy, and Nat was alive.

Of course, each day I was disappointed, and the elephant only grew larger with time.

The final straw came the night before school. Clint had been more evasive than usual that day, and as soon as the kids were in bed he moved from room to room, drawing the curtains and shuttering the blinds. There was a tense, nervous energy about him, even more so than normal, and as he came into the living room I looked up and frowned.

"Clint?" I sighed, "What's going on now?"

"Someone's watchin' us," he said, in a low voice, "I'm sure of it."

"Oh, really?" I said, and put my book to one side, "'Sure you're not just getting paranoid in your old age?"

It was meant to be a playful statement, probably would have been in happier times, but from the way Clint glowered it was clear he was in no mood to hear it.

"I've been getting this…feeling, ever since the power came back on," he said, "I thought I was just being overprotective, but now I'm sure of it. They're out there, somewhere, and they're good. Not seen 'em once."

"But how?" I said. His expression was serious, serious enough that I felt a chill run down my spine, "Nobody knows where we live! A month ago, this place was…"

"Abandoned?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know, Laura," he said, honestly, "Once the kids're gone tomorrow, I'm going to start sweepin' the grounds. I don't care who they are, they'll have left some clues."

"Need a hand?" I said, almost hopefully. Tooling around with Avenger gear sounded like a nice change of pace, if nothing else.
"It's too risky," he shook his head. "Probably better if I deal with this one by myself."

"I can handle myself!" I said, and felt a stab of anger at his dismissive attitude, "But fine! Just don't come crying to me if you get jumped!"

"Kinda hope it doesn't come to that," he said, "But, um, I've got something else to tell you."

"What is it?" I said, and my heart rose. Was this what I'd been waiting for?

"I'm just going to come out and say it," he said, and I listened eagerly, "Fury's been in contact with me about a job. I think I'm gonna take it."

"What?" My stomach lurched with a mixture of disappointment and fear, "What job? I thought you were retiring!"

"He needs people. The Avengers're basically dead in the water, so-"

"So why you?" I said, and did my best to keep the tremolo out of my voice, "Look, I know that the past few weeks have been pretty awful, but we need you here! I need you here."

His gaze softened slightly, "I don't know, hon; I've been thinking a lot about this. I was alone for five years, and suddenly having you all back…maybe it's too much."

"No," I shook my head, "No. Babe, please-"

"-but if I just had some time to clear my head-"

"How will that help?" I said, "We've just come back, and now you want to leave?"

"I don't want to leave," he said, "But you deserve better than this. I can't keep letting you all down."

"You're not! Or at least, you're not the only one."

Once again, there was that momentary softening in his eyes, "It's been hard, hasn't it? I…never imagined it'd be this hard."

"And that's why running away isn't going to help," I said, "I tried that already, remember?"

"I'm not running!"

"Then what are you doing?" I said, and my voice cracked just a little.

"I'm trying to be better!"

"Then let's be better! Both of us! Look…how about this; maybe you go, maybe you don't - but no matter what happens, we sort this out. By hook or by crook."

"You mean…get help?"

"If that's what it takes, then yes! We can't keep on like this; it's not fair on us or the kids. Deal?"

My husband smiled; it was only a small smile, but it was there nonetheless, "Deal."

"Good," I said, and closed my book with a snap, "Now…I'm going to bed. 'Have to be up early to see the kids off."

A little while later, I lay in bed while my mind replayed our talk over and over. If nothing else, it'd been a massive wakeup call. Obviously, things weren't that great between Clint and myself, but I'd never dreamed that he'd want to leave! The very thought filled me with a chill that cut clean through the anger, guilt, and shame, and I knew I had to act. I wasn't entirely sure what I was going to do, just yet, but I had to do something, fast. He clearly thought he had to change as well, and the fact that he'd agreed so willingly to addressing our issues had to be a good sign, right?

My phone buzzed noisily on the bedside table, and suddenly the bedroom was bathed in brilliant white light. Who the hell could possibly be contacting me this late at night? With a groan, I stretched out to pick up the phone and managed it on my second attempt. At first glance, it looked like spam, or at the very least the number was neither in my contacts list or one I recognised from memory. As I read the message, however, my brows knitted in surprise.

Mrs Barton

Your couples counselling session is booked for 1100 at the address below. Please arrive 10 minutes in advance of your first session.

The message was unsigned, but I thought I recognised the address. If I was right, it was pretty nearby; only about ten miles away, in fact, close to one of the nearby towns.

This had to be Clint's doing, right? It had to be, but at the same time I couldn't quite believe he'd moved so quickly! I knew how he worked; when he needed to buy something, or we needed something specialist done, his approach was to look up everyone who could possibly do it for miles around, and then meticulously rank and filter them until he found one or two who met his exacting specifications. For him to have done this so quickly was…unheard of! If ever there was a sign that he wanted to make things right, this had to be it.

In the darkness I found myself smiling happily, and for the first time in weeks, I felt a sense of hope.