Chapter Three: The Prat in the Hat

The kids' first day of school dawned blustery and grey, which in many ways was a perfect match for the mood in the house. As cold, unfriendly light seeped in through the windows, Clint's brand new alarm clock came to life with a deafening banshee wail that drilled painfully through my eardrum and lodged itself deep within my brain.

"Clint, honey?" I groaned and cracked open an eye, "Can you turn that damn thing off, please? I'm trying to sleep."

There was no response.

"Clint?" I reached out for his shoulder, and my fingers brushed against soft blankets and an empty pillow. Suddenly, I was wide awake and bolt upright, "Clint? Where are you?"

As I looked urgently around the room for my errant husband, the events of last night surfaced as panicked scraps in my mind, and a yawning pit opened in my stomach. Fury's job offer…he hadn't gone already, had he? He couldn't have! Even if he had taken the job, he wouldn't have just snuck out in the middle of the night…right?

"Why not?" my little inner voice said, treacherously, "You said it yourself; these past few weeks have been pretty 'awful'. Who's fault was that again?"

"Be quiet," I growled.

"If I were him, I'd want to put as much distance between you and him as possible."

"Be quiet!" I snarled, slapping my palm down on the keening clock with uncharacteristic force. The bedside table shook, and a small scrap of paper fluttered off the side, drifting slowly to the floor. It looked like a note, scrawled in Clint's borderline-illegible script, and I felt a lurch as I scrambled forward to snatch it out of the air. I twisted it this way and that, and finally deciphered the hastily written scrawl to read:

Gone out. Back soon.

Love, Clint

I sat back with a sigh, and as my anger cooled I felt a strange mixture of relief and shame swirl within. Even if Fury's job was starting today, there was no way he would've left without saying goodbye! Why would I even think he'd do something like that?

"Maybe because deep inside, you're scared that you deserve it?"

I grit my teeth, but said nothing. Okay, so he'd probably just gone outside to clear his head, or go for a walk, or…something. It didn't matter; what mattered was that he didn't go until we'd fixed 'us', and if that meant that he needed some space then…I would have to give him that space. As much as he needed.

Breakfast was a subdued, solemn affair, and Clint's absence hung over the table like a cloud. While I did my best to put on a brave face for Coop and Lila, all I got in return were dark, dirty looks, and my attempts to make light conversation were met with a stony silence. Clearly, they hadn't forgiven me for my behaviour these past couple of weeks, and if I was being honest it was kind of hard to blame them. Forgiven or not, however, they were still my Coop and my Lila, and there was no way I was giving up.

"It's going to be fine, guys," I said gently, addressing the elephant in the room, "Remember, half your classmates are going through exactly the same thing."

"They're going to think we're freaks," Cooper muttered, "Dust bunnies brought back from the dead!"

"No, Coop, no. You're not a freak! Neither of you are! Nothing's changed."

"Nothing's changed?" Coop set down his knife and fork, hard, "Mom, have you seen what happened to people like us? Dad was right; we just poofed into ash and floated away! How can we just turn up at school five years later and pretend 'nothing's changed'?"

"Because…" I faltered. I didn't have a good answer to that, and from the mix of scorn and triumph in my son's expression he knew that just as well as me. Thankfully, Lila stepped in before I had to admit defeat.

"Where's Dad?" she said, in a small voice. "Why isn't he here?"

"He's…" I thought briefly of his note. "Gone out."

"Has he gone back to work for Fury?"

"What? No! Where did you hear that?"

"We heard you arguing. Again," Coop said coldly, "We heard what Dad was saying. Lila's right, isn't she?"

"Nothing's decided yet," I said, reassuringly, "He's…we're still thinking about it."

"But if you keep fighting, he's gonna go, right?"

"Well…"

"Why can't you just stop?" Lila asked plaintively, and I could see tears standing in her eyes, "I don't want Dad to go away!"

"I…" I felt tears of my own welling up, and I swiped quickly at my eyes, "I don't either, darling. But it's going to be okay; we're going to talk to someone while you're at school. Everything's going to be fine."

"You keep saying that, Mom," Cooper said, and added sharply, "Nothing'll change, right?"

"It will be fine," I said firmly, and set down my own cutlery, "Now, you're both going to school, and you're going to walk through those gates with your heads held high. Don't let anyone tell you you're a freak because of…what happened, do you understand?"

Coop and Lila exchanged another anxious glance across the table, and then there was the blast of a horn from somewhere up the road.

"And that sounds like the bus!" I said, brightly, "Alright guys; grab your bags and let's go!"

Normally, Coop and Lila were more than capable of catching the bus by themselves, but today I felt like I had to see them off. We waited nervously by the side of the road, a short walk from the homestead, and as the bus came into view Lila made an unhappy noise and drew close to me.

"Mom?" she whispered, and I felt her hand grip mine tightly. "I'm scared."

"I know, darling," I said, and enfolded my children in a tight, protective hug, "And I know how hard this is. You're both being very brave, and I'm so proud of you."

"Okay, Mom…Mooom!" Coop protested. Despite his protestations there was a small smile on his face, and my heart soared, "They'll see!"

"Let 'em see," I said, as the bus drew closer, "I love you both very much, okay? And no matter what happens, that's never going to change."

The bus came to a juddering stop just in front of us, and the doors hissed open. Coop and Lila tensed up as the bus driver surveyed us with a curious look, but then his face split open into a wide, friendly smile.

"Cooper! Lila! Welcome back!" he said, cheerfully, "Come aboard and give this old man a high five!"

At that moment, I could have kissed that driver. With an encouraging nod, I gently ushered my kids aboard and watched as they gave the bus driver a rather half-hearted greeting. Suddenly, the chatter in the bus dropped to an almost palpable silence, I felt my hands go clammy-

-and then there was a wave of shouts and whoops, loud enough to stir the birds from the trees. The bus shook, and the suspension creaked in protest as the other schoolkids rushed forward to hug, high-give, and shake the hands of my children. Somewhere towards the back, someone started slamming their feet rhythmically on the floor, and a chant of 'Bar-ton! Bar-ton!' filled the air. I watched and listened in amazement, and felt the tears flowing freely down my cheeks.

"The kid's have been doing that for everyone who's Blipped," the bus driver said, with a look of pride, "I guess it's their way of…welcomin' them back into the fold."

"It's amazing," I whispered, almost too choked up for words, "They're amazing."

"They know what's goin' on. I'm tellin' you, all these scuffles breakin' out between Blippies and non-Blippies? No offence-" he said quickly, "-but when you see these kids, you realise how totally pointless it all is."

"See you later, Mom!" Lila shouted, beaming through a small crack in a window. I smiled and waved in response as the bus doors hissed closed, and continued to wave as the bus drove out of view. For just a moment I had the feeling I was forgetting something, something important, but then it was gone. With a smile still playing on my lips, I went to rouse Nate for school.

It wasn't until Nate was fully dressed and fed that it occurred to me that I had no way to actually get him there. My beloved truck had vanished the same day as Clint, and aside from Stark's funeral I hadn't actually left the house since the Blip. Walking was obviously out of the question, and since my seldom-used bicycle was now a pile of gently rusting scrap…maybe a taxi? It wouldn't be cheap, but I was damned if my youngest was going to miss his first day of school in five years.

Just as I was about to make the call, I heard a strangely gentle hum from outside, followed by the brief, almost apologetic, toot of a horn.

"Horn!" Nate shouted excitedly, "Car!"

"I know!" I agreed, and scooped him up before he could run for the front door, "Now who could that be?"

That was an excellent question. Ever since Fury had set us up here, we'd done our very best to cultivate a quiet, peaceful existence off the grid. Clint had amassed a fair few enemies over the course of his career, and the last thing we wanted was for them to get wind that he had a family camped out in rural Missouri. The only people who knew we lived here were those who had needed to know, and that was a very small number indeed.

"Go play, Nate," I said quietly, and set him down near his toys, "Mommy's just going to see who it is, okay?"

My youngest nodded happily in response and busied himself with his train set. Once I was sure he was distracted, I warily twitched back a curtain just as a large, black SUV came gliding to a halt in the drive. Clint was sitting in the driver's seat, looking rather pleased with himself, and I almost sagged against the wall in relief. This must've been what he'd meant about 'going out'! He hadn't gone out to clear his head or run away with Fury, he'd gone out to buy a nice…shiny…new…hold on a second!

"What the-" I covered my mouth before Nate learned a new word. The relief was gone, and suddenly anger was bubbling up from somewhere deep inside. Had Clint really gone out and brought a brand new car? Without consulting me first? Had he gone stark raving mad? Before I really knew what I was doing, I found myself storming furiously through the house towards the front door, fully intent on giving my husband a well-deserved piece of my mind-

"Sure, you do that! Go out there and crush him!" said my inner voice, with a little mocking laugh, "I'm sure that'll convince him to stick around!"

I hesitated, my hand on the door handle, and felt the spike of anger fade. Even if it was justified this time, a shouting match wouldn't get Nate to school on time, and it definitely wouldn't do anything to shore up our relationship. I was standing on thin ice, I knew that, and the last thing I needed to do was start jumping up and down. With a deep, calming breath, I opened the door and stepped outside.

"Hi, hon!" Clint greeted me. His tone was lighthearted enough, but I knew him well enough to know he was bracing himself for a fight. This time, though, I would have to disappoint him.

"Hi," I forced a smile in response. "So what's this?"

"It's the new Barton-Mobile!" he said, and patted it on the hood. "Do you…like it?"

"I liked our truck," I said, rather petulantly. Our pickup might have been an old, battered thing, but I'd spent hours on it while the kids were at school. In return, it had repaid my loyalty many times over, by surviving long past the point that both Clint and the mechanics had declared it fit only for the scrapyard, "I'd…sorta hoped we'd be able to get it back."

Clint's face fell, and rather belatedly I realised that was the wrong thing to say, "Sorry, hon, but the truck's gone. I told you, I had to abandon it by the side of the interstate up near St. Louis after-"

"-a helicopter came down," I grimaced, "Yeah, you said."

"So either the government had it crushed, or it's up on bricks in someone's barn. It's not like there was a shortage of vultures after the Snap."

"Unbelievable," I muttered, and walked over to give the so-called 'Barton-Mobile' a once over while Clint waited nervously for my verdict. While I might have enjoyed tinkering with the pickup truck, Clint was the real petrolhead in the family. His knowledge of cars, particularly classic cars, was damn near encyclopedic — and it showed. Even from a cursory glance, the SUV looked like a perfect family car, and try as I might I was unable to find anything about it that I particularly disliked.

"It's very…nice," I said, grudgingly. Clint's face lit up as if he'd just won the lottery, and I found myself smiling despite my annoyance, "And I suppose the pickup was getting on a bit…"
"A bit?" Clint said incredulously, "That thing was barely roadworthy, hon! One of the wing mirrors fell off halfway down the interstate!"

"You must've been driving her wrong, then!" I said, "She's very…particular!"

"She was a deathtrap, and I'm sayin' that as someone who's been caught in actual deathtraps," Clint said, "At least I know this car is safe. It's won awards, actually."

"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow, "And since when did the great and powerful Hawkeye care about being safe?"

"C'mon, hon," he said, with a slightly irritated air, "Where you guys're concerned, there's no compromise. You know that!"

"Yeah, you're right. That was wrong of me," I admitted, and then held up an accusatory finger, "But you know what was wrong of you? Running off to buy this thing without talking to me first! How could you?"

"The offer expired today! My taxi barely got there in time as it was!" he protested. "Besides, I left you a note!"

"Yeah, and I thought you'd run off with Fury or something!"

"Really?" He cracked a slight smile, "Seriously?"

"I'd just woken up! You know what I'm like before coffee!" I snapped, and then softened my tone. "But come on, Clint…we're meant to talk about big purchases like this, and I thought you were going to buy your dream car when you retired. You always talked about it."

"This is my dream car, hon."

"A family SUV? C'mon!" I snorted. "You always talked about getting a Dodge Challenger and racing down the country lanes—"

"—that was before the Snap, hon. It's funny how losin' your entire family kinda puts everything in perspective," he said, with a sad, crooked grin. "After…that, I could've used our savings to buy as many Dodge Challengers as I wanted, but what would've been the point? I didn't have anyone to enjoy 'em with."

"Clint-"

"But then about four months ago I saw this-" he gently patted the Barton-Mobile, "-and it was all I could think about. I had dreams about it, and in those dreams we'd always be doing stupid mundane things. Y'know, like droppin' the kids off at school, or going shopping, but I was happy. I never dreamed of a Challenger like that, so…"

He trailed off, and I was momentarily lost for words. What was I meant to do with that? Part of me, the part that still bubbled with rage, wanted to demand he turn around and take it right back to the dealer, but …I couldn't. Clint never asked for much — never asked for anything, really, and if this car meant that much to him then I wanted nothing more than to let him have it. After everything that he'd been through, he deserved it.

That being said, he still deserved to sweat a little…

"Well..." I said, and ran a finger theatrically along the hood of the SUV, "...I seem to remember that we had a deal, didn't we?"

He looked at me cautiously. "We did?"

"We did. I distinctly remember promising you that when you retired, you could buy yourself that dream car. If this is it-"

"Yeah, it is."

"-then I suppose I have to keep that promise. Congratulations, Clint; she's the new Barton-Mobile," I said, and gave him an arch look. "You'd better take good care of her, understand?"

"Understood," he visibly relaxed. "Thanks, hon."

"Don't thank me yet," I said, and he froze as my gaze became a glare. "There's still the matter of you running off this morning with nothing more than a note! Do you have any idea how hard it was to talk Coop and Lila into going to school?"

He shook his head, mutely.

"Well…not that hard, admittedly — but it could have been!" I said, "So, do you know how you're going to make it up to me?"

He shook his head again, and I stepped forward until we were barely inches apart.

"You—" I said, and poked him lightly in the chest. "—are going to take Nate to kindergarten, and you—" I poked him again, "—are going to walk him right up to that front gate and drop him off every day this week, understood? Every. Damn. Day! Just like all the other dads!"

Clint stared at me for just a moment, and then I saw the light in his eyes as realisation dawned, "Sure thing, hon."

"Good! Now let's get going. If he's late, I'm blaming it on you."

By the time we'd reached Nate's kindergarten, I was sold. While I loved working on the pickup truck, even I had to admit it had a few character flaws. It was slow to start, practically ran on whale oil, and the suspension was so bad that a dirt track was tantamount to physical abuse. By comparison, this car took off as if fired from a gun, and didn't so much drive as flow down the country roads, crossing potholes and cracked tarmac with scarcely a bump. It was quiet, too, with none of the clanks, bangs, and rattles that suggested the carburetor was on its way out or the timing belt was about to ping off to parts unknown. Sure, I'd taken pride in keeping the pickup running as long as I had, but driving was so much more peaceful without the fear that four wheels were about to fall off at once. Maybe it really was time for a change…

Normally I would've dropped Nate off at the front gate myself, but today was Clint's day. Instead, I sent them off with a hug and a kiss, and waited in the car as our son walked hand-in-hand with his father to the front gate. As they disappeared into the throng of chattering parents, I sat back and snuggled down in my seat. Heated seats were another luxury that I was unused to, and while I was pretty certain I could hear myself sizzling it was doing wonders for my lower back.

A little while later, the car door clicked open and Clint got back in. His eyes were red and his cheeks were streaked with tears, but he was smiling a gentle, wondering smile.

"You okay?" I said. He nodded once as he wiped his face, but he was clearly still too choked up to talk. We sat in silence for a little while, and I finally gathered up the courage to brush his fingertips with mine. "You…want to talk about it?"

His fingers twitched away at my touch, "I'm fine, hon."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure!" he said, more sharply this time, "It's just…last month I thought you guys were gone, forever, and now I'm droppin' Nate off at school? I just can't get my head around it."

"I can imagine," I said. Suddenly, the atmosphere in the car turned chilly, and Clint's smile faded.

"I don't think you can, hon, I really don't," he said, with just a hint of steel in his voice. "In fact, I don't think anyone who Blipped can imagine what it's like."

"Yeah? Then why don't you tell me?" I retorted, my voice rising in sudden anger, "You know, along with all those other things you're not telling me!"

"Laura—"

"And after that, maybe I'll tell you what it's like to lose five years in a flash! All I did was try to pick up a goddamn hotdog and—" my voice cracked, just a little, and I forced myself to stop, "—no. You know what? If we're going to have it out, we're going to have it out in front of that therapist. Maybe they can knock some sense into you!"

Clint's eyes flashed angrily, "We'll see."

We set off in a tense, angry silence, and as we hummed down the country lanes I alternated between seething gently at Clint's comments and mentally kicking myself. For a little while there, things had seemed to be improving, so why did I have to go and ruin it by lashing out like that? Maybe if he hadn't been so damn dismissive, and just taken the time to explain, then—

"Uh-huh," said my little inner voice, "Because recently you've been the very picture of patience and understanding, haven't you? Why waste his time?"

—no, it was all going to be fine! This was just a minor setback. We were going to see this therapist, he or she would explain to Clint exactly where he was going wrong, and then he'd apologise and we could make up! I knew I could be stubborn, and sometimes I could be a little mule headed, but for Clint I had all the forgiveness in the world. All he needed to do was stop being such a prideful idiot, and all would be well.

I tried to ignore the sounds of mocking laughter from deep inside, and instead took a keen interest in the world around me. As we headed cross-country, passing farmsteads and small country cottages, I was surprised at how little had changed - or rather, how little growth there had been. For every property that was occupied there were two or three in a sorry, ruined state; most had broken windows and rotting, vine-covered timbers, while others had completely collapsed or been reduced to burned out husks. All around me, the atmosphere was one of overwhelming desolation and abandonment, and —finally unable to take anymore— I shrank down in my seat until only the sky was visible.

"Laura?" Clint gave me a quick look. While his eyes were still tight with anger, I could see his concern shining as clear as day. I smiled weakly in response, and then forced myself to sit back up and look out the window. No point worrying him more than necessary.

"What caused this?" I asked eventually. I was sure I knew the answer, but I had to ask.

"The Snap, of course," Clint said, "Or at least, what happened after the Snap. People just got out and didn't come back. Some of these—" he nodded at another destroyed house, "—the entire family got Snapped and left the gas on. One spark later, and—"

"Yeah," I said brusquely. In a strange way, we'd been kind of lucky. While our house had been a mess, I didn't even want to think about what we would've done if we'd come back to a burned-down farmstead. "Do you think they'll come back home? I mean, everyone's back, so…"

"It's not going to be that easy, honey," Clint said, "It's going to take time."

"...yeah, I know."

For a short while the only sound was that of tires rumbling across the tarmac, but I got the distinct feeling that Clint was trying to rustle up the courage to say something. The signs were subtle, sure, but right now I was so on edge that any sign was a harbinger of something awful. After several minutes of watching him grapple internally, I was so worked up that I simply had to ask.

"What is it?" I said, and Clint looked at me in surprise. "C'mon, hon. You know I can read you like a book — so whatever you want to say, say it!"

"Oh…um…right," Clint set himself, his fingers whitening slightly as he gripped the steering wheel, "I just wanted to say…sorry."

"'Sorry'?" My heart leapt, but I did my best to maintain a calm, understanding facade, "For what, hon?"

"For not being there this morning," he said, gruffly, "I should've been there, and I wasn't."

"Oh…right," I tried to hide the disappointment in my voice. It wasn't quite the apology I'd been hoping for, but it was a start, "It's okay, hon. There'll be other days."

"Yeah, but this one was important!" he said, and hit the steering wheel with a frustrated palm. "I was kinda hopin' I'd be able to take 'em to school myself, but—"

"You dropped off Nate, right? One out of three isn't bad," I said, "And if it means that much to you, why don't you see them off tomorrow? And the day after that? You could see them off every day until they finish school, if you'd like."

"...yeah, I would," Clint said quietly, "I don't want to smother 'em, but—"

"You've earned it," I said, and reached across to squeeze him gently on the knee, "If anyone has, it's you."

"Thanks, hon," Clint glanced briefly in my direction, and I could feel him relaxing under my fingertips. "So…were they okay?"

"Hard to tell. Between the sour looks and the silent treatment—"

"—so they were moody teenagers on a Monday morning?" he said lightly.

"No!" I tittered, and a smile flickered across his face, "No. Where they're concerned I'm pretty sure I'm in the doghouse."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Never been there before. 'Not sure I like it."

"You reckon there's room in there for one more?" Clint asked ruefully, "'Cause I'm pretty sure Lila's disowned me."

"Lila? Never! She adores you, hon!" I said, and felt confident enough to give him a reassuring pat, "Just give her time, okay? She'll come around."

"Yeah, I hope so," he said, "How'd she react to you tellin' her about Maisie?"

"I—" I recoiled, and stared at him in sudden horror, "Oh, shit!"

He stared back, "You didn't tell her?"

"I forgot!" I wailed, "I knew there was something important I needed to do, but with everything else that was going on—"

"Oh, Christ," Clint said, and grimaced, "Well, home time's gonna be fun."

"How could I have forgotten? I-"

"How indeed?" said my inner voice, "I mean, who knew that being totally self-absorbed could possibly have downsides?"

"I've got to phone her," I said, desperately reaching for my phone, "Maybe I've still got time—"

"Hon, wait," Clint said, "Firstly, if she's got her phone with her in class the only thing you're going to do is get her in trouble. Remember what happened with Coop?"

I hesitated. I'd made that call with the best of intentions, but the fallout hadn't been pretty.

"And secondly…I'm not sure that you telling her would've helped her much, anyway. It's going to be a huge shock no matter what happens," he said, "If she'd known, she might've tried to skip school."

"I still can't believe I…" I slumped back in my seat, "Shit. Shit!"

"It's okay, hon," Clint said, in a surprisingly gentle tone, "We all make mistakes. All we can do is be there for her when she gets home."

Eventually, the long, lonely road joined the interstate. The world blurred as Clint opened up the taps with a whump of power, and before long an unlovely warehouse came into view. Whatever its original purpose was, it was either only partially finished or stood in a state of complete disrepair, and around its base were several, smaller buildings that were little more than rebar skeletons and partially collapsed scaffolding. Rust and decay was everywhere, and I shivered despite the warmth.

"I don't remember this," I said, and Clint shrugged.

"Probably some post-Snap attempt to bring some life back to the area," he said, and snorted. "You can see how well that worked out."

"Yeah…" I looked on at the derelict buildings, and for the first time I felt the weight of those missing years pressing down on me. For me, they'd passed in a blink of an eye, but in that blink these buildings had been designed, approved, built…and left to rot. From their generally ramshackle, weather-beaten look, they'd been left a long time ago, too. What else had happened during that blink? What else had changed—

The sat-nav pinged suddenly, and Clint gave it an incredulous look.

"Well, you ain't gonna believe this, but apparently this is where our therapist has set up shop."

"What? In this dump?" I shook my head, "You're kidding."

"Nope," he said, and he turned carefully off the interstate into the oversized carpark. The tension in the car ratcheted up a notch, and Clint's expression was suddenly wary as he scanned the shadows and the rooftops.

"Hold on, Clint," I said, "You don't think—"

"I'm not sure what to think," he said, "But I am sure I don't like it. Wait here a second."

Clint cut the engine and carefully slipped out through the door, rechecking his corners as he did so. He vanished from view, crouched down beneath the window, and a moment later there was a click from the trunk followed by the rustle of leather.
"What're you doing back there?" I began, and turned to look, "Wait, you brought your bow—

"Ssh!" he said harshly, and I shut up immediately. He came around to my side, an arrow nocked but not drawn, and directed me to open the car door. As carefully as I could, I slipped out and knelt down in the shade beside him.

"Is this really necessary?" I whispered.

"We're bein' watched," Clint said, curtly.

"Really?" I felt a thrill of fear, and looked around at the rooftops looming over us. They all seemed empty, but—

"Yeah. Same feeling I had back at the house," said Clint, "Might even be the same person."

I nodded silently. Clint hadn't survived this long without developing a keen sixth sense. If he said someone was watching us, then they were.

"So what do we do?" I asked.

"Don't know, yet," he said, "Best to be prepared, though."

"Well, I didn't come prepared to hide behind our car in the middle of a damn car park!" I hissed, "Which way are we going?"

"Right…" Clint scanned the area once again, and then nodded towards the side of the warehouse, "We've gotta get to cover. I think I see a sign over there, so I'll go first and you follow right behind me, okay?"

"Okay!" I said, and felt my heart beat a little faster. Clint nodded once, gave me a reassuring smile, and set off with a catlike tread across the parking lot. I followed suit, trying and completely failing to emulate his low, quiet run towards the promised cover.

"Wow," my inner voice piped up, admiringly, "Do you realise that in all these years, you've never actually seen Clint in action? You've got to admit, it's sexy as hell."

"This isn't the time for ogling!" I muttered, "This could be a trap!"

"Oh please. A box propped up with a stick would make a better trap!"

"Someone's watching us!"

"Then they've got good taste. I mean, look at him! He's clearly been keeping up those glute exercises, if you catch my drift."

Clint flattered himself against the wall next to the sign, and a moment later I joined him. As far as 'cover' went, this was only marginally better than hiding behind the car. On the bright side, if a would-be sniper did take potshots at us, at least we wouldn't have to explain the bullet-holes to the insurance company.

Clint snorted, disgustedly. "Y'know, if I'd really thought I'd need my bow, I would've brought my commando leathers too. This just doesn't feel right."

"Commando leathers, you say?" a series of enticing images rattled through my mind, and the voice sighed, "Look, honey; you'd better hurry and make up with Clint. There could be a commando leather-based evening with your name on it!"

"Still, so far, so good," Clint said quietly, and gave me a look of mild concern, "You okay, hon? You look a bit flushed."

"I'm fine!" I said, just a little too quickly. "Say… is it hot out here, or is it just me?"

Clint's concern turned to confusion, and then realisation slowly dawned in his eyes. I turned away, mortified, but I could already feel the blush deepening in my cheeks.

"It's not just you," he said, with a roguish smirk and a subtle wink. Somewhere inside, that little voice was making strangled noises and jumping up and down for attention. If Clint kept this up, it'd probably start panting like a cartoon dog.

"Look," I said, and with an effort chased the more lascivious thoughts away, "Are we where we're meant to be or not?"

"This sign says so—" Clint said, and indicated the sign painted on the wall next to him. It said 'Therapy', and rather surprisingly it had been painted with some care. Each letter was picked out in calming blues and greens, and for some reason they felt vaguely evocative of a rippling pond or breaking swell waves. It was surrounded by an intricate web of green vines, covered in little white flowers, that flowed and knotted together to form a twisted branch that ran around the side of the building, "—and if someone's gone to that kind of effort…"

"You don't think it's a trap?"

"Didn't say that," Clint said, "'Cause I'm pretty sure we're still being watched."

"So what do we do?"

"What can we do? We play along," he said. With a wry little grin he made a circling motion with his finger before setting off, his bow still half-drawn and ready for potential trouble. I followed as best I could, trying to ignore the happy sighs echoing through my head.

We followed the branch around the side of the warehouse, until it went through a small, completely nondescript white door, set into the wall. Clint motioned me to stay back, and then moved in cautiously. As I watched, my mouth going dry with anticipation, he gave the knob an exploratory tap with the arrow, and then in a single smooth motion he opened the door and slipped inside. A moment later, a hand emerged and beckoned me in.

The inside of the warehouse was surprisingly gloomy, with the only light coming through a hole in the unfinished roof. As my eyes adjusted to the murk, I realised we were standing between racks of sporting equipment that extended off into the darkness.

"So what now?" I said, and Clint tapped a foot gently on the floor. When I looked I saw the twisted vines running along the floor, across a large, open expanse towards some rickety metal stairs, bolted to the far wall. We followed them, and climbed the stairs as quietly as possible to find a small foreman's office, with yet another completely nondescript door. Clint held up a hand to stop.

"Well, here we are," he said, tensely, "You ready?"

"I'm ready!" I whispered, and then paused, "Wait - ready for what?"

My answer came with a crack of wood and a shower of splinters as Clint quickly sized up the door and then delivered a withering kick to the knob. The door swung inwards, crashing noisily into the wall, and Clint was through in a flash, his bow fully drawn and thrumming with barely restrained power as he scanned the room for targets. I came in immediately behind him, barely able to restrain my shocked grin—

—and then we stopped. I had no idea what I was expecting at the end of the trail, but this? This wasn't it. The room was almost completely bare; there were some small folding chairs, a simple wooden desk…and that was all. Behind the desk sat a slight individual with an athletic build, wearing a simple gray T-shirt and a genuinely horrible mustard-yellow beanie cap. At the sound of our entrance, he looked up and gave us a rather cool look with a pair of brilliant emerald eyes, moving only to brush a splintered piece of wood off his shoulder.

"Oh, for goodness sake; I knew I should've left that bloody door open," he said, in a strong English accent, "Still…full marks for your entry, I guess. Haven't seen someone do that in quite a long time."

"You—" Clint began.

"And put that bow away, mate," he continued, with a slightly weary sigh, "We both know you're not going to shoot me."

"Do we?" said Clint, "And I'm not your 'mate'."

"You're right. My mates don't kick in my door," said the man, "But in any case, you're still not going to shoot me. Not with that bow."

"Why not?"

"Because the safety's still on."

There was a slightly stunned pause, and then Clint said, "What safety? This is a bow!"

"Excuse me," I said sharply, and both men looked in my direction, "Are you our therapist?"

"That's what it says on the door," the man said, and frowned, "Said on the door. I mean."

"Actually, it doesn't say anything on the door."

"Doesn't it?" the man craned to look, and then said, "Well…bugger. Sorry, but I've been so busy moving things in that I guess I forgot to put it up. Next time, maybe."

"Yeah," Clint said, in a rather noncommittal tone. The therapist didn't seem to notice.

"Still, I hope you appreciated the artwork on your way in. That didn't happen overnight, y'know!" he said, and then said, "Well, it did, but it took hours. It's a good thing this place had so much stuff just lying around - but anyway, shall we try this again? Please, pull up a chair!"
He nodded to the two small, folding chairs. After a moment's hesitation, I dragged mine a little closer and sat down just across the table. It was hard, cold, and uncomfortable, and the therapist gave me a faintly sympathetic look as I squirmed this way and that.

"Yeah, I apologise for the, um…"

"Spartan?" I proffered.

"...Spartan…Spartan," the therapist said it a couple of times, as if he was tasting the word, "Yeah, that works. I apologize for the Spartan nature of the room, but I only got here recently."

"From England?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You're English, right?" I raised my eyebrows, "We don't get many English people in Missouri, but—"

"Oh, no, I'm not English," he said, "But I have been hearing that a lot."

Clint leaned in, his eyes narrowing, "So where're you from, then?"

"I'm not sure why that's any of your concern," the therapist said, with a rather chilly little smile, "These sessions aren't about me. They're about you."

"Okay, so what's your name?"

"My name…" the therapist appeared to think for a second, and then his smile broadened, "You can call me 'Thera' if you want. Short for 'Therapist'?"

"So you're not going to tell us your real name?" I said, "Don't you think that's a bit suspicious?"

"What if it is?" 'Thera' shrugged, "I'm not the one carrying a weapon or assaulting inoffensive doors."

"Sure, but—"

"And surely your tame Avenger can handle me, right?"

"You know who I am?" Clint said sharply, and Thera inclined his head in surprise.

"I'd be a pretty poor therapist if I didn't do my homework, Hawkeye," he said, "Besides, how many other people in Missouri routinely carry a bow?"

"Point," Clint conceded, "So what…other homework did you do?"

"Enough to get by," Thera leaned back and smirked, "Like you, I'm a consummate professional."

Clint looked around the room once again, and his gaze alighted on the therapist's awful beanie cap, "Yeah, that's comin' across. So what's with your eyes?"

"What about my eyes?" Thera's hand went quickly to his face, "What, are they bloodshot or something?"

"No, but I'm pretty sure that ain't a natural green."

"Oh? Oh!" Thera relaxed, visibly, "No, they're contact lenses. You know, to see with."

"Yeah, I know what contact lenses are."

"Well done you. So, if there's no further questions—" he said, in the clear tones of someone who wasn't prepared to answer them anyway, "—firstly, thank you for coming. Admitting you've got problems in your relationship can be very difficult for some, and I'm happy to say you've done the hardest part by coming through that door—" he gave the door another look, and then shook his head, "—even if you were a touch unorthodox in your approach."

Clint gave me a wink, and I hid a smile behind my hand.

"Also, everything we talk about here is completely confidential. However, if you do reveal to me information about abuse, either of one another or of someone else then I'll have to pass that information onto the authorities. If I do then I'll discuss it with you first, so you know that that's what's going to happen. Is that okay?"

As one, we nodded.

"Amazing," he said, and then drummed his hands on the tabletop, "Now, let's talk about feelings, shall we? Who wants to go first?"

"Not us!" said my little inner voice, "Let's hear what Clint has to say first!"

I looked at Clint, "Would you like to go first?"

"No, please," he responded, "The floor's all yours."

"Okay…" Thera sighed. "Since you're both clearly aching to participate, why don't we ask the person who made the appointment to go first? Who did that?"

"Oh, that was Clint," I said, and tried not to sound too relieved.

"No it wasn't!" he protested, "I thought you made the appointment!"

I looked at him in surprise, "What? I just got a text!"

"So did I!"

"Excuse me," Thera said flatly, "Are you seriously saying that neither of you made the appointment, but…you got in a car, traveled all the way here, and then smashed your way through my door without realising that fact?"

"Um…" I looked bashfully at Clint, who also had the good sense to look embarrassed, "Yes?"

"Amazing. Absolutely amazing," Thera muttered, and then smiled brightly, "Well! I think that demonstrates pretty well how poor your communication is right now. So instead, I guess we'll go with…eeny-meeny-miney-you—" he pointed at Clint, "Alright, Hawkeye. Tell me what's going on in that Avenger-powered noggin of yours. Right here, right now."

Clint hesitated, and in that moment I could see the uncertainty in his eyes. Unlike Stark or Rogers, he'd come from a world where secrets were jealously guarded and people weren't to be trusted. Because of that, he'd always been an intensely private man, and beyond myself the only person he'd trusted with his innermost secrets was Nat. To bear them now, to a complete stranger with an irritating attitude, went against every fiber of his being.

"It's okay," I said, and gave him an encouraging smile, "You can do this, hon."

He nodded silently, and when he spoke it was in a low, halting tone, "After the Snap, I thought my life was over. We were just enjoyin' a nice day in the sun, and then—" he bit his lip, "—I turned around, and everyone was gone."

"I'm truly sorry," Thera said, in a surprisingly sincere tone, "That's an…unimaginable loss."

"Yeah…I still ain't got the words to describe it," Clint said, "I spent most of the past five years wishin' I got Snapped with them."

"Clint—" I started, but Thera silenced me with a look.

"But now…they're back. I ain't got the words to describe that either, in case you're wonderin'," Clint added, and Thera smiled faintly in response, "All I can say is that I feel like the luckiest guy in the universe. I've been given a second chance with my family…but I'm wasting it."

This time I stayed silent, but I could feel the tears pricking at my eyes. Did he really think that? I…never wanted that! All I wanted was to know—

"How so?" Thera asked, and I braced myself for the answer.

"I can't talk to them," Clint said simply, "I can't find the right words. My kids keep talkin' about being Blipped like it happened to someone else. I mean, I spent five years grievin' them almost non-stop, and when they talk about the Snap like it's something exciting…I dunno. What am I meant to say to that?"

"Do you feel like they're being unempathetic?" Thera said.

"What? No! No," Clint said quickly. "It's just…I don't think it's hit them yet."

"It's possible. What's happened is beyond anything anyone could've imagined. It's a lot to process."

"Maybe you're right."

"Or it could be a coping mechanism," Thera added. "They might not be ready to accept what's happened to them. Or its significance."

"Yeah…" Clint sighed, "I…really screwed things up with my daughter, too. A couple of weeks ago, she wanted to go outside and practice her archery, like we used to do."

"Did you do that often?"
"Yeah," Clint smiled, "It was like our 'thing'. It was…what we were doin' when she got Snapped."

"Oh," there was a moment while Thera processed this, and then, "So you said…"

"No."

An eyebrow jumped, "'No' Just 'no'?"

"It's not that I didn't want to; I want to more than anything in the world!" Clint said earnestly, "But I just can't! I… can't."

"Did you tell Lila that?"

"I tried, but-"

"You 'tried'? C'mon, Hawkeye!" Thera rolled his eyes irritably, "Put yourself in her shoes! Right now, she desperately needs your love, support, and a sense of stability — the very things you withdrew without any explanation! Is that something you've done before?"

"No!" Clint protested, "Of course not!"

"So she's lost, confused, and scared. Is it any wonder that she lashed out?"

"How'd you know she lashed out?"

There was just the hint of a pause, "Believe me, you are far from the first person this has happened to."
"Great; so what do I do about it?"

"Why don't you tell me?"

"I don't know!" Clint threw up his hands, "Aren't you supposed to be the therapist?"

"I'm not here to give you the answers, Hawkeye; I'm here to make you think!" Thera snapped, "If your roles were reversed, what would you want her to do?"

Clint's fingers tightened around the sides of his chair, but then he stopped, looked at me, and took a long, deep breath, "I'd want her to talk to me."

"You would?" Thera's tone softened, "What about?"

"About…what happened, I guess. How hard it must've been these last five years, survivin' the Snap when the rest of us didn't, and knowing that she was never goin' to see any of us ever again—" his voice cracked, and he glowered at the therapist, "That's what you wanted me to say, right?"

"Close enough," Thera said, "I know it's hard, Clint, and I don't think anyone will truly know how hard it's been for you — but how can they if you never tell them?"

"But haven't they been through enough? I don't want to scare 'em."

"And I don't think it's 'them' who's scared!" Thera countered, "Sometimes we have to have difficult conversations with the people we love, Clint. You must have done that before, right?"

"Oh, sure," Clint relaxed, ever so slightly, and gave me a sly look, "You remember the one about the birds and the bees?"

I made a face, "I'm trying not to."

"Great! That's your homework, Hawkeye," Thera said, "I'm looking forward to hearing great things next week, as befits a mighty Avenger such as yourself."

Clint blinked, "Hold on — next week?"

"What, did you think this was a one-and-done deal?" Thera gave him a look of mild amazement, "Sorry, mate; this isn't S.H.I.E.L.D. or the bloody circus; I take my responsibilities seriously."

"But—"

"Hold that thought, Hawkeye," the therapist turned to me, "So, Laura; how're things with you?"

"I…um…" I hesitated. How were things with me? Suddenly, I was drawing a blank.

"You're 'um'?" Thera inclined his head and smiled that irritating smile of his, "How about this; do you agree with what Clint said?"

I looked briefly at Clint, "Um…yes — but it isn't his fault! It's—"

"I'm not looking to assign blame, Laura. Just getting a feel for the situation." Thera said, "So…how was your relationship before the Snap?"

"Great. Perfect, even," I said immediately, and his eyebrow went up, "I mean it! We had an amazing marriage! We used to tell each other everything—"

"'Had?'" Thera pounced, and I felt a sudden thrum of annoyance. Was this a counseling session, or an interrogation? "So since the Snap…"

"We've been…struggling," I admitted, "Clint's right; it's hard to listen to the kids talking about what happened…and honestly, it doesn't quite feel real. It really does feel like it happened to someone else."

"Mmm," Thera nodded, "Go on."

"And we aren't connecting. We've been trying, but…how can we? He doesn't tell me anything anymore!"

Clint sat up, "Hold on—"

"Laura's speaking, Clint," Thera said softly, but firmly. "So how does this make you feel, Laura?"

"Angry!" I said, "Angrier than I've ever been. There's times when I just want to scream and break shit, and…I don't know what to do. I've never felt like this before."

"If it helps, that's not that unusual," Thera said, "Anger is a really common response after experiencing trauma."

"But I'm not traumatised!"

"Say what? You died, Laura! Isn't that traumatic enough?"

"No, I—" I grit my teeth, "—the world just changed, okay? There wasn't anything; no bright lights, no angels…"

"They were probably quite busy," Thera said, "But look; you've spent the last twenty years of your life playing it safe, peacefully raising your children in the middle of nowhere. Then, in a blink of an eye, you were all ripped apart at the subatomic level. All that time you thought you were safe? It was a lie. How is that not traumatic?"

"Because…it's not!" I said, but even to me that sounded like a weak defense, "I was fine with it until Clint…"

"Clint what?"

"Refused to tell me how Nat died! I had to sit through her whole damn funeral looking at all these people who knew, while my own husband-"

"What?" Clint said, and pointedly ignored Thera's hard look, "None of 'em know, hon!"

"They must do!"

"No, 'cause I haven't told anyone! Anyone!"

"But…but…" I felt my self-righteous anger waver, just a little. "Well, I still want to know! Why aren't you telling me?"

"Because you aren't listening! About anything!" Clint snapped back. "All you do is hide away in your workshop or in our room and try to pretend that the rest of the world doesn't exist! Whatever's going on with you, it ain't about Nat!"

"Of course it is! She was my best friend! I deserve to know how she died!"
"Okay, let's all calm down," Thera said, quietly inserting himself into the argument. "Quick question, Laura. You really didn't know that Clint's told no-one?"

I shook my head.

"So you didn't ask anyone else how Agent Romanov died?"
"Of course not!" I said, shocked to the core. "I'd never go behind his back like that!"

"No?"

"Never!"

"Huh. There might be hope for you two yet," Thera smiled, briefly but warmly. "And look, the fact is you're both right. Laura does deserve to know—"

"—thank you!—"

"—but is that really what's troubling you?" he said, with a sharp look. "Is it possible that you're fixating on her death as a way to avoid confronting yours?"

"Oh, I know this line of questioning," I said disdainfully. "You're expecting me to say 'well, maybe I am, right?' and then we all treat that as the gospel truth?"

"Actually, I want you to think about what's important. What's really important," Thera said, "Let's say…your farmstead is on fire. Clint's trapped in one room, Cooper, Lila, and Nathaniel are trapped in the other, and in a third there's a safe with a detailed explanation of how Agent Romanov died. You can only save two, so what do you do?"

"Oh, that's easy!" I said promptly, "I save Clint, and while I'm saving the kids he drags the safe out the front door!"

"Nice try," Thera grinned, "But it's a very heavy safe."
"Fine; I save the kids, save Clint and then both of us drag it out the front door!"

The grin broadened, "It's bolted to the floor."

"I have a crowbar!"

"Do you routinely carry a crowbar?"

"Can you prove I don't?"

"Good point," Thera said, "But you're forgetting about the crocodile."

"Why's there a crocodile in my house?"

"He's guarding the safe," Thera laughed, and once again I felt a stab of anger. "Look, I like watching someone squirm as much as the next guy, but that fire's not getting any cooler. Tick tock, Laura."

"Well, obviously I choose to save Clint and the kids!"

"Why?"

"Why?" I exchanged an incredulous look with Clint. "Because they're my family! They're everything to me! Without them, I'd—"

I froze. What would I be without them? As much as I tried, I simply couldn't imagine a world without a family. If I'd survived, what would've been left? A broken, shattered woman, all alone, haunting the fragments of her life in an empty farmstead…

"What would you be, Laura?" Thera asked, breaking into my reverie.

"I'd be lost," I whispered. Clint took my hand, and when I looked at him I could see the understanding and compassion in his eyes. He'd lived that nightmare, and knew its pain more I ever could, "Oh, honey, I—"

"It's okay," he said, his voice thick and emotional, "It's okay, hon. You're here now."

"Yeah, but…" I exhaled, hard, "You were right. I get it now."

"Get what?"

"That I'll never get it. I'll never really understand what it was like for you, will I?"

"I dunno," Clint said, "But I guess I'll probably never get what it was like to Blip, either."

"But that doesn't mean we shouldn't try! I just…" I turned back to Thera. "How do we do that? How do we reconnect?"

The therapist spread his hands, "How did you connect in the first place? Go on dates. Do fun things together. Try something new! In fact, Laura; that's your homework for this week. Go do something you've never done before. Something ridiculous!"

"I…" I smiled shyly at Clint, "I… guess we could find something to do."

"Amazing," Thera put both his hands flat on the table and stood up, "I think that's enough for one week, don't you? It looks like you guys both have something to think about."

"For sure," as Clint got up, he fixed the therapist with a long, hard look, "Definitely."

"Great. I can't wait to hear how you get on," Thera said, but then his gaze turned serious, "Actually, just one last thing."

I paused, half-way off my seat, "What?"

"When extreme things like this happen, we often discover things about ourselves that we don't like. We're weaker than we thought, or we're…not slick, unstoppable heroes." he said, "We've all got foibles, and the important thing is to be patient and forgiving."

"Of each other?"
"Of yourselves. There's enough trouble in your lives already, so don't add to it by beating yourselves up over the small stuff. In the long run, none of that matters."

"If you say so," Clint said, and jerked his head towards the door, "We goin', hon? You can drive if you want?"

"You sure? I haven't driven in over five years," I said, "And it's your baby…"
"If you kept that pickup goin', I'm sure you can handle it," he tossed me the keys, and glanced back at Thera, "So, I guess you'll be seeing us next week, eh?"

"Oh yes. Same time, same place," Thera said, and as he locked gazes with Clint I saw a distinctly mischievous glint in his eye. "I thought we'd like to talk about Vormir."