The Tracksuit Mafia is in shambles, as is the Bishop family. With no other place to go for Christmas, Kate hitches a ride in Clint's minivan. It's around 10PM when they head out for Missouri to be with the Clint's family for Christmas.

"I love the soccer mom aesthetic," Kate comments jokingly as they reach the highway.

"Well, this is what we got," Clint replies. "Sorry you couldn't spend Christmas with your family."

"Well, after my mom's engagement," Kate says annoyedly, "I'm not sure I would've spent it with them anyway."

"Got any siblings or aunts and uncles you usually spend it with?" Clint asks.

"Nope," Kate denies. "Till my dad died, it was my parents and me, and after he died, just my mom and me. Lots of presents, but that's only 'cause we were rich 'cause Dad apparently was involved with the mafia."

"Well, that'll do it," Clint reacts. "This Christmas, though, you're an honorary Barton."

"Really?!" Kate squeals excitedly. She clears her throat. "I mean, cool. Yeah. I could be a Barton."

"Yep, both of you," Clint adds, referring to Lucky in the backseat and taking a glance back at the dog.

Seeing he is the center of attention, Lucky lets out an eccentric bark.

"So, how long till we're at your home?" Kate asks. "Two hours? Three?"

"Sixteen," Clint responds enthusiastically.

Kate groans, pushing herself into the back of her seat. "Sixteen? Seriously?" She whines.

"I take it you're a pretty through-and-through New Yorker," Clint chuckles. "Never going anywhere. Always walking, never in a car."

"Well, I left the city for archery competitions and whatnot," Kate remarks.

"How far out?" Clint raises an eyebrow, grinning slyly.

"Like, a few minutes," Kate mumbles. "And I wasn't always paying attention to speed or whatever. It's pretty trafficky."

"It's New York!" Clint declares. "Traffic, mafia, bows and arrows… we wouldn't have it any other way."

"Well, I could do without the mafia," Kate shrugs. "I'm just shocked Jack wasn't involved. He's just a guy who's really into swords."

"Yeah, I find that hard to believe," Clint responds. "Feels a little coincidental. Keep an eye on him. No other relatives?"

"None close."

"Yeah, he's the closest thing you've got right now to family," Clint comments.

"Well, besides you," Kate replies. "I'm an honorary Barton, remember?"

"Yep," Clint says, "I do remember saying that just a couple minutes ago."

For a moment, neither says anything, before Clint asks, "So, what do you normally do for Christmas?"

"Presents," Kate answers. "Breakfast. Taking a walk. Church in the evening. Pretty stereotypical, I guess."

"Nothing wrong with stereotypical," Clint remarks. "I'd rather have had a stereotypical Christmas, but, oh well. It worked out this way."

"I'm glad it did," Kate states. "Are you?"

"Well, yes and no," Clint answers.

"How do you figure?" Kate inquires.

"I'd rather have been with my kids for Christmas," Clint muses. "You know, I made promises that I wasn't able to keep."

"Oh, for sure," Kate agrees.

"But, this needed to be done," Clint continues. "Got the watch, disbanded the mafia, picked up another kid."

"Uh, I'm 22," Kate interjects.

"All the same," Clint counters. "Anyway, did some good stuff while we were here. Now there's better stuff waiting at the end of this 16-hour drive."

"If it's going go to be that long," Kate asks, "do you mind if I try to sleep? Or do you need me to take a shift driving?"

"Oh, no, no, not at all," Clint allows, "go ahead and sleep, I'll wake you up if I need you."

"You sure?" Kate checks. "'Cause I can always—"

"Look, kid," Clint interrupts, "I spent around two days trapped in a vent while hostiles were searching for me and my—" His voice chokes for a second— "my partner. Yeah, I'll be fine."

"You don't sound fine," Kate says.

"Trust me, I'm fine," Clint recovers, clearing his throat.

As much as she can, sitting upright and wearing a seat belt, Kate turns over to her right, closing her eyes to sleep, but listening to the sounds of passing cars, quiet Christmas music playing on the radio, and the occasional car horn.

Meanwhile, Clint isn't fine like he said. His mind is heavy with the thought of Natasha. He takes a slow, deep breath, trying to blink away any forming tears. He still remembers that day on Vormir as clear as day. For years, he's replayed the events in his head, hoping for a different outcome each time, but never getting it. A single tear escapes his right eye, catching the moonlight as Kate so happens to glance over at him.

She turns back to her right, watching the slower cars be passed. "You know," she says, her voice slightly muffled by her right cheek being pressed against the back of the seat, "if you're not feeling good for… whatever reason, just think of your favorite things."

"What, is that "Sound of Music" crap?" Clint asks, sniffling.

"Raindrops on roses," Kate sings lightly, "and whiskers on kittens…"

Clint doesn't make any kind of vocal or facial response.

"Bright copper kettles," Kate keeps singing softly, "and warm woolen mittens."

She looks over her shoulder at Clint, his face utterly expressionless. She moves up a little straighter, still facing the right. She goes on, "Brown paper packages tied up with string…" Again, she looks over at Clint, watching him as she finishes, "These are a few of my favorite things." Clint mouths the words with her, and she thinks she can see him smiling a little.

"Yeah," Clint reacts with a shaky voice.

Reacting to Clint, Kate quickly turns back over to her right, smiling at herself, satisfied that she was able to help someone feel a little better.

"It's not crap," Clint remarks, sounding more composed. "It's actually a pretty good musical. Well, for something that came out of the '60s."

"It's not bad," Kate agrees, her voice quiet and gentle as she drifts off to sleep.

A few hours later, the sun's earliest beams wake Kate up. Later that day, she and Clint are in Missouri, where she meets Clint's family and enjoys a nice, quiet, amazing Christmas with them.

That night, Clint is checking on his kids as they go to bed, appreciating every moment with them now that he's finally with them. Kate is in a sleeping bag on the floor in Lila's room, in front of Lila's bed. She quickly falls into a deep sleep. Lucky is sleeping on Lila's bed, at the foot of it.

Being sure to talk quietly to not wake Kate, Clint says good night to Lila, who is laying in her bed. Clint walks out of the room and is about to shut the door, inches away, when Lila's voice pipes up quietly: "Dad?"

"Yeah, honey?" Clint reacts, turning around.

"Thank you," Lila says softly. "For everything."

"Yeah," Clint replies. "You're welcome. Merry Christmas, Lila." He goes to shut the door again.

"Dad?" Lila says again.

"Yeah?" Clint responds, mildly annoyed but honestly appreciating a conversation with his daughter.

"You know what my favorite part was?" Lila asks.

"No," Clint says. "What was your favorite part?"

Lila puts her hands behind her head, looking up at the ceiling and smiling. "Getting a sister."

Kate just snores.