From the Ashes

by Mr Toes

Shortly after the Blip, a family from Missouri struggles to find a new balance amongst the chaos. While confronting their own demons, the Bartons are forced to face off against a curious individual with a strange agenda; one which may have implications for everyone on Earth.

4. Chapter 4: Partners in Crime

Chapter 4: Partners in Crime

The sun had broken through the clouds by the time we emerged from the gloomy warehouse. Without a word, we crossed the oversized parking lot to our car, and before long we were rolling down the interstate towards home. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Clint gazing into the wing mirror, his expression tense and alert, and it wasn't until the warehouse vanished completely from view that he finally seemed to relax.

We traveled back in silence, the only sound the muffled rumble of tyres on tarmac. Something had changed, though; this wasn't the awkward pauses of yesterweek, demanding to be filled with inane comments and fake laughter. This was the peaceful quiet of a couple who were happy just being together, without the need to fill the air with white noise. It felt…nice, and from the small, shy smile on Clint's face, I was pretty sure he was thinking exactly the same thing.

I settled back into my seat with a sigh and felt knots and aches that I wasn't even aware I had begin to ease. It wasn't just the atmosphere in the car that was calm — I felt calm. At some point, and I wasn't quite sure when, the snapping, crackling storm of pride and anger that had twisted up my mind had ebbed. It was still there, licking hungrily at the edge of my consciousness, but right now I felt composed and more like myself than I had since the Blip. I had clarity, and with that clarity came no small amount of guilt. Simply put, my actions of the past two weeks had been inexcusable; I'd hurt Clint, I'd hurt the kids, and when I thought about the things I'd said and done part of me just wanted to curl up and hide all over again. With an effort I shook that off; if our family was ever going to heal, then that started with me healing the damage that I'd caused. For the first time in ages, I knew exactly what I had to do.

The clouds had all but burned away by the time we arrived home, and as the farmstead came into view, I couldn't help but feel a small surge of pride. Sure, maybe we'd been in the grip of Blip-induced mania, but we'd still done a damn fine job of restoring our home to its former glory. Five years of neglect had lent it an air of dilapidation and disrepair, but now it looked clean, fresh, and new, shining brilliantly in the noonday sun.

I carefully nosed the Barton-mobile across the gravel drive, not wanting to scratch up Clint's new baby, and after a few moments worked out how to kill the power. With a faint whine, the car fell silent.

"Time to pay the piper, Laura," said my little inner voice. "Do you know what you're going to say?"

I did. With a bright smile that belied my sudden rush of nerves, I turned to my husband and said, "Coffee?"

Clint looked up in surprise. Ever since we'd left the warehouse, he'd been staring out the window, watching the world go by with a look of deep contemplation on his face. "Huh? We're home? When'd that happen?"

"Just now. Coffee?"

"Must've been miles away," he said, and rubbed at his temples. "What'd you say, hon?"

"I asked if you wanted coffee," I said for the third time, and my smile became that little bit glassier.

"Oh…um, sure, if you're making some," Clint said, "We got decaf?"

"Maybe?" I said, a little dubiously. "You know what? I'll go and see!"

I quickly hopped out of the car and all but raced indoors ahead of Clint, pausing only to kick off my shoes at the door. Seriously? Decaf? Since when did Clint start drinking decaf, and what was the point of it, anyway? As far as I was concerned, coffee without caffeine had no purpose, like a plane without wings or a bicycle with square wheels. It was just… brown sacrilege!

"Never mind that. 'Coffee'? What was that all about?" said my little inner voice.

"It's a work in progress!" I hissed, as I headed into the pantry to look through my collection of coffee beans and grounds. Most of them had gone bad on…that day, but I'd made a point of ordering in a variety pack to keep me ticking over until I could restock. Maybe there was some decaf in there…?

"A work in progress? What's wrong with an honest 'I'm sorry, I was an idiot. Please forgive me.'?"

"Because it's not enough!" I said, as I flicked open the box and leafed through the small bags, "I acted like a complete…well, I acted like Mom! Clint deserves better!"

"Sure, but he also loves you enough to throw himself through time and space for you. He doesn't want some overblown, groveling apology; he just wants his wife back."

"Yeah? Well, we're just going to have to agree to disagree," I said, as I reached the end of the box. Just as I was about to turn away the words 'decaf' caught my eye, and with a relieved smile I pulled out a small, green-lined bag. "I'm going to fix this."

"You said that before. Remind me, how'd that turn out?"

I shut the box, possibly a little harder than I meant to, and went to prepare the coffee. My machine had been one of the first things I'd salvaged following the Blip, mostly for therapeutic reasons, and the mold that had taken up residence had been effectively napalmed with powerful disinfectants, followed by a merciless bout of scrubbing. Now, it hummed and gurgled happily as it came to the boil, and I smiled as I carefully measured out and tamped down the grounds. Decaf or not, coffee made everything better.

There was the faintest of creaks from the corridor, and I almost jumped out of my skin as Clint's voice rang from the kitchen door. "How's it goin', hon?"

"Christ, Clint!" I swore, and turned to pin him with a glare, "Do I need to put a bell on you or something?"

"Sorry! Didn't mean to make you jump," He said, and then gave me a faintly concerned look, "Are you feeling okay, hon?"

"I'm fine," I turned back to the coffee machine and leaned forward, putting both hands on the worktop.

"So when'd you get into decaf? I spent all that time trying to show you good coffee and the instant you're left to your own devices, you go for this dreck?"

"Yeah, well…it was that or hittin' the bottle. A lot of people did," Clint said, and there was a scrape of wood as he pulled out a chair and sat down. "They couldn't handle seein' their loved ones vanish in a puff of smoke, so they just…crawled into dive bars and never came out."

"But not you, right?" I said, trying to keep my tone calm and non-judgemental. Clint had never been a heavy drinker, but even if he had given in…how could I blame him? If I'd been the only one to survive, I'd have drunk myself to death in six months, tops.

"Well…there were a couple of times. Maybe even a bar-room brawl," he said, a little evasively. "But I could see where it was all headed, so I started drowning my sorrows with coffee instead."

"Decaf coffee?"

"Nah, that came later," He chuckled. "I really tried to remember the stuff you liked, at least at first, but then I started drinking a lot of coffee. The caffeine started messing with my judgment. Made me jittery—"

There was a loud, obnoxious beep as the coffee machine signaled its readiness, and I inserted the tamped-down grounds into the little pot. As the machine got to work I snatched down two clean mugs and placed them beneath the spigot, just in time for it to dispense a measure of thick brown fluid into both.

"You still like it black, right?" I said. I brought both cups to the table and sat down next to him, and he smiled gratefully as he accepted the drink. "Or have you also acquired a taste for those syrups, too?"

"I'm good, thanks," he carefully sipped the steaming liquid. "Now what's really botherin' you, hon? I know it ain't the coffee."

"What?" I started. "I—"

"C'mon, hon. You've been jumpy since we got home, I heard you mutterin' to yourself, and that smile?" He grinned. "The last time I saw one like that, it had fins attached."

"Yeah, you're right," I sighed. "I was…thinking."

"Oh yeah? About what?" His fingers met mine across the tabletop, and suddenly my heart was beating out a rapid tattoo in my ears. This was it, I supposed, the moment of truth. If nothing else, I had to say something before I lost my nerve.

"I was thinking…about how to phrase my apology," I said, and then the words came tumbling out. "I mean, what would you like? A simple 'I'm sorry'? Flowers? Chocolate? You still like dark chocolate, right?"

"Laura—"

"There's always angry makeup sex—"

"Laura," Clint said gently, "You don't need to apologise. Really."

"No, I do!" I said firmly. "When I told you that the last few weeks have been pretty awful, I should've said that… I was awful. I was just so angry, all the time, and I took it out on you. I was mean, and nasty, and cruel — and you can stop me at any time, y'know!"

Clint said nothing, but I could see the amusement dancing in his eyes.

"This should have been one of the happiest times of your life, and—" my voice cracked, and I felt tears welling up as I fought to keep my voice level, "—I completely screwed it up! I—"

"You didn't screw anything up, hon," he said gently. "Okay, yeah, you maybe kinda went off the rails a bit, but…"

"A bit? If Coop or Lila had acted like that, I'd have grounded them for a year!"

"—and I wasn't any better!" Clint took another swig of hot coffee and visibly steeled himself. "I spent that whole first week trying to force everyone to play 'Happy Families' and make everything go back to how it used to be! Y'know, like the last five years never happened!"

"But I played along. Hell, we all did. I think we needed it," I said. "And c'mon, you can't say we didn't have fun. I can't remember the last time we told the kids ghost stories!"

"I'm pretty sure you gave 'em nightmares, hon. But…that damn therapist was right; I closed myself off," he sighed. "I should've gone shooting with Lila, and I should've told you how Nat died. Maybe I didn't stomp around the place like Godzilla, but if I'd stepped up like I should've done, then maybe none of this would've happened."

"Well, if I'd just been patient and let you decompress, then maybe you would've been able to step up. Instead, I obsessed over her death and used it as a stick to beat you with!" I sighed. "I promise you, I'll never ask about her again. I don't deserve to know."

Clint looked taken aback, "Don't you think that's goin' a bit overboard, hon?"
"How else am I going to make this up to you? Besides, knowing how she died doesn't change anything; it certainly doesn't make her any less dead!" I took his hand in mine and held it tightly. "I love you, Clint, and if it hurts you to talk about her, then it's just not worth it."

A stunned silence descended on the room, and for a moment he seemed genuinely lost for words. After just a moment, though, his face lit up with a megawatt smile that made my heart turn somersaults.

"I love you too, hon," he said, and rubbed his thumb across the back of my hand, "An' you don't need to make a ridiculous declaration like that, y'know."

My eyebrows shot up, "'Ridiculous'?"

"Heartfelt. I meant heartfelt," he said quickly. "Look, it took both of us to really screw things up, so I guess both of us need to do something to make it up to the other, right?"

"So…how should we do that?" I inclined my head and smiled suggestively, "Just so you know, angry make-up sex is still on the table. Metaphorically and literally, if you'd like."

"I ain't angry, though."

"That's the bit you're focusing on?" I rolled my eyes, "I know it's been a while, but work with me here, Clint!"

"Actually, I was thinkin' that if you wanted to make it up to me, you could help me out with Lila."

"You mean…help you do that homework that Thera set you? Isn't that cheating?"

"No, it's workin' together as a couple, which is what he wanted us to do," Clint pointed out. "An' in exchange, maybe I could…help you with yours?"

"You mean to do something I've never done before? Something ridiculous?" I said and looked at him suspiciously. "Why do I get the feeling you've already got something in mind?"

He winked. "'Cause maybe I do."

"Uh-huh," I said, and inclined my head towards the living room, "C'mon, if you're going to be mysterious, can I at least be comfy? I dunno about you, but I'm pretty sure these chairs didn't used to be this hard."

The butterflies in my stomach gave a flutter as I got up and made my way to the front room. While I quickly made room for two on the sofa, I heard a faint scrape, the padding of feet, and then Clint appeared in the doorway. For a moment he wavered, his eyes flickering towards his favourite armchair, and I quickly gave the seat next to me an inviting pat.

"C'mon, hon," I said, with a small internal sigh. "I don't bite!"

"Not hard, anyway," he said, and sat down next to me with a smile. He wasn't sitting quite as close as I might have liked, but I felt a surge of triumph, nonetheless. Baby steps, right?

"So…" I said, inching as near as courage would allow, "What's this 'ridiculous' thing you've got in mind, then?"

"Well—"

"Are we kicking in more doors?" I added eagerly, and laughed, "I still can't believe you did that! I've never seen anyone do that in real life!"

Clint looked away, almost shyly, "Yeah…I may've gotten a little carried away."

"A little? He had bits of wood all over him!"

"And did he do anything? No! I basically shoved an arrow up his nose and he didn't even blink! Even Nat twitched an eyebrow!"

"You were ordered to assassinate her," I pointed out. "You're lucky she didn't kick your head off."

"Maybe," he looked a little hurt. "But still, she was a trained assassin. All he did was complain about the lock!"

"True, but—"

Clint shot to his feet, "That's not the only thing, though. He knew an awful lot about us, Laura, and I think he wanted us to know that he knew."

"You mean, like how he knew that Lila lashed out?"

"Yeah — but he shouldn't have known she existed! Our kids, our home, our…everything! He knew everything, and he just sat there and laid it out for us, one thing after another. He even knew about—"

Clint broke off, staring pensively out the window, and in the silence that followed my mind spun quickly. He was right, of course; 'homework' or not, there was simply no way some random therapist should've known about any of the things he'd so casually rattled off. Our life here was a dirty little S.H.I.E.L.D. secret, kept off the books and out of sight for over two decades. How could Thera have known about our farmstead, or our children's names, or—

"Vormir?" I asked suddenly. It'd been the last thing Thera'd said, and he'd said it with the air of someone laying down a royal flush. "Hey, what's 'Vormir'?"

I wasn't sure what response I'd been expecting from that, but Clint recoiled as if struck, and his sudden inhalation shot through the room like a whip crack. In an instant, I was on my feet and by his side.

"What's wrong, Clint?" I asked urgently. He stared at me with unseeing eyes, his breathing fast and shallow. I'd seen that distant, haunted look only once before, decades ago, and for it to bubble up now, after so long…whatever Vormir was, it was worse than the Chitauri, worse than Ultron, worse even than H.Y.D.R.A.'s most nightmarish schemes. Suddenly, icy cold fear was pooling in the pit of my stomach, but I summoned up my resolve and rammed it aside. Clint needed me, and he needed me now.

"It's okay, Clint. It's okay," I said, and reached out to gently caress his cheek. "It's me. It's Laura."

"I…" He reached up to take my hand in a cold, clammy grip, and a light seemed to come on somewhere deep inside. "Laura?"

"I'm here," I said softly, comfortingly. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I know," He took a long, deep breath, and smiled wanly. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay," I repeated, and gently guided him back to the sofa. "C'mon, hon, sit down. I'll make you another—" I grimaced, "—drink, if you'd like."

The smile turned wry. "Now you're not even calling it coffee?"

"I have my limits, hon," I said, and patted him on the leg. "And I'm so sorry, if I'd known—"

"—there's no way you could've known. The truth is…"

He hesitated, and I found myself suddenly on tenterhooks. I was pretty sure I knew where this was heading, but I dreaded the answer anyway.

"...Vormir was where Nat died."

"Oh," I said, numbly. I'd been waiting for weeks to hear this, but suddenly I found myself lost for words. I settled for patting him on the leg again, "You don't need to say any more, hon. I'll just go and—"

"Wait, Laura. Please," he said, and I froze halfway off the sofa. "You…deserve to know what happened. If anyone deserves to know, it's you."

"But not if it's going to hurt you, Clint! I don't want—"

"That doesn't matter," he said, with a shake of his head. "It's gonna hurt no matter what, but…if I don't tell you, it's just gonna gnaw away at us until there's nothin' left. That damn therapist was right about that, at least."

I sat down and took his hands in mine, "If it gets too much for you, promise me you'll stop, okay? There's no rush."

"Sure. So…you know how I told you all about how I was sent to get the Soul Stone, right?"

"'Course I do!" I smiled proudly, "Clint Barton, sent out alone on a critical mission to save the universe? How could I forget?"

"Well, yeah," he shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. "The thing is, I…might have left out a couple of details…"

We sat, hand-in-hand, and I listened with rapt attention as Clint recounted how he and the rest of the Avengers had banded together to reverse the devastation Thanos had wrought. I'd heard it all before, of course; the reappearance of Lang, the discovery of time travel, and the plan to rebuild the Infinity Gauntlet and undo the Snap — but I listened anyway. If he needed this to work up his courage, then I wasn't about to throw him off his game. Until—

"The thing is, I wasn't there for any of that," he said, "'Heard it all second-hand from Nat and Rogers."

"You weren't?" I sat back in surprise. "But you said…"

"What the kids needed to hear, hon."

"So where were you?"

His face darkened, "Japan. Working."

"'Working'?"

"Yeah."

"For who? The Avengers?"

"It's not important right now," he said, and waved it aside with a speed that worried me. "But anyway, she tracked me down in Japan, and when she told me there might be a chance…" he broke off again, and then rushed on. "You gotta understand; I'd lived five years without havin' anything to live for. I was just existing, drifting through the world like a ghost, and when she found me…"

I nodded, and said softly, "You joined up."

"Why not? It's not like I had anything left to lose," he shrugged. "I was either gonna bring you back or die tryin'. Whatever it took, right?"

"And you were sent to get the Soul Stone?"

"We were sent to get the Soul Stone," he said, and caught my surprised expression. "Yeah; that's the bit I missed out before; it wasn't just me. Nat and I teamed up, like old times, and got sent to this planet called—"

"Vormir."

"Right."

"I can't believe you got to go offworld! I used to dream of going offworld!" I said, "What was it like?"

"Weird. Barren and…lifeless," he said, and then corrected himself. "Well, there was this one guy, but I'm pretty sure he didn't want to be there. Thing is, he knew who we were, he knew what we wanted, but…there was a price."

"What was it?" I asked tensely.

"A soul. For a soul."

"What?"

"It was worse than that, actually," he said, and I could see that thousand-yard stare creeping in again. "To get the 'Stone, you had to sacrifice someone you loved by throwin' them off this cliff, and…"

My jaw dropped, and I stared at him in sudden horror. Was this why he hadn't told anyone how Nat had died? He couldn't have…no! Clint wasn't capable of something like that!

"The Clint youknew wasn't capable of that," whispered my little inner voice. "But you know full well how loss can change someone. What's one little murder, if it means the end to five years of unbearable grief?"

"I tried, Laura. I really tried!" He went on, and my horror deepened at the quiver in his voice. "We fought to the bitter end, but—"

"—tell me you didn't, Clint! Please tell me you didn't!"

"—I couldn't stop her!" his voice dropped to almost a whisper, and tears were standing in his eyes. "I was so close, but she…"

"She what? Wait—" Realisation dawned, and for a moment I genuinely thought I was going to be sick. "You were fighting to be the sacrifice?"

"I was tryin' to save her life, Laura!"

"By sacrificing yours? Clint—!" I bit down hard on my exclamation, but the thoughts still swirled treacherously inside. If he'd succeeded…if it had been Nat who'd answered my desperate phone call…no! No, I couldn't think like that, not right now. Right now I needed to be calm and collected, just like I used to be, "Is this why you couldn't tell us, hon? Because you tried to sacrifice yourself?"

He shook his head, silently, and I could feel his hands suddenly trembling in mine.

"Then why?"

"Because…I think I let her win," he said haltingly. "I wanted to see you guys again so badly, I think part of me wanted her to be the one who went over that cliff. What if I threw the fight? What if I sent her to her death?"

"Stop, Clint," I said gently. "Nat sacrificed herself of her own free will. She was willing to die because she loved you, loved me, loved all of us, just like you. Don't take that away from her, and don't ever doubt that you did the right thing."

"The 'right thing'?" He said, his voice suddenly sharp and harsh. "Laura, I let her slip through my fingers! How can I tell the kids how she died when I'm the one who…who—"

Something broke, deep within, and a wail of unutterable loss filled the room as Clint just shattered. He curled over on the sofa, his whole body shaking with long, wracking sobs, and I felt tears of my own well up as I leaned over to wrap him in a tight, comforting hug.

"It's okay, honey," I said, and gently stroked his back as he wept like a broken-hearted child. "It's okay. It's okay…"

We stayed there for nearly half an hour while Clint recovered. I felt him relax, slowly and by degrees, and then finally the shaking stopped, and he relaxed into my embrace with a shuddering sigh.

"She should be here," he mumbled. "She spent the last five years holdin' everything together, trying everything she could to bring you back, while I…" there was a dark, pregnant pause, "...went freelance. After everything she did for us…it's not fair."

"No, it's not!" I agreed and felt a sudden surge of anger. "Forcing you to fight each other for the stone? That might be the sickest thing I ever heard! But…Clint?"

"Yeah?"

"This was always how it was going to end for her. Always."

"What do you mean?"

I sighed, and gently stroked his awful haircut. "I love Nat —loved Nat—, but she was obsessed with atoning for…what she used to do. Everything she did was aimed at 'balancing her ledger', right?"

"I guess…yeah."

"So then she gets an opportunity to save not only your life, but half the universe? It's everything she's ever wanted; of course she was going to jump at it!" I winced. "Sorry, poor choice of words."

"No kidding," Clint snorted. "But she'd think it was funny."

"And wherever she is now, I'm sure she's at peace," I said. "I hope so, at least, 'cause if she saw how we'd been acting she'd probably die laughing. Again."

"Or she'd bang our heads together and tell us to stop being stupid," Clint grinned. "Again."

"You mean like Thera?" I said, and then a thought occurred. "Hey, you think that he meant for this to happen? He must've known I would've asked about it, so—"

"No," Clint said bluntly. "Look, hon, the only people who should know anythin' about Vormir are the people who were on that mission. It was need to know - strictly need to know, and it's gonna remain that way for good."

I frowned, "Why?"

"'Cause not everyone's happy we reversed the Snap. The last thing we want is some extremist decidin' 'Thanos was right' and try to follow in his footsteps," Clint said, and his grip tightened. "I'm not losing you guys again. Ever."

"You got that right," I said. "So when Thera was talking about Vormir—"

"Yeah. That smug, limey bastard looked me right in the eye, smiled, and told me that he's got access to some of the Avengers' best kept secrets. He was throwin' down the gauntlet, and we gotta do something about it."

"Yeah, but what?"

"Simple. We're gonna find out exactly what he knows, we're going to find out how he knows it, and then we're going to nail him and anyone associated with him to the nearest goddamn wall! You with me?"

"Ooh; look at him!" my little inner voice enthused, "He's all fired up! Don't ruin this for us, Laura!"

"You…want my help?" I said and felt a strange mixture of hope and uncertainty. "Aren't I a little underqualified? Shouldn't we call the Avengers?"

"The Avengers are gone, hon; 'least, the ones I trust to get the job done," he said, with just a hint of forced casualness. "I need a new partner, an' I'm thinking that I need someone who's quick on their feet, smart as hell, and has more courage and resourcefulness in her little finger than half these 'new' Avengers do in their entire bodies!"

"Um, well—" I hesitated.

"It's gotta be you, Laura; it can't be anyone else. You in?"

I gave him a long, searching look, and in his eyes I saw the kind of fire I hadn't seen since he'd been put under house arrest. He needed this, and as I turned it over and over in my mind I realised that I needed it too. Signing on with an Avenger? It was insane, it was ridiculous, and it was exactly what the therapist had ordered. Sure, he probably hadn't expected us to make him the subject of our homework, but then maybe he shouldn't have been so damn smug. If there was anything I could do to throw a wrench into his plans, whatever they may be, then it would be worth it just to see the look on his face.

"You grasp this moment. Grasp it with both hands and hang on tight!" said my little inner voice. "Because this, this, is our way back home."

"You know what? I think Thera needs to be taken down a peg or two," I smiled nastily. "I'm in!"

-LB-

Clint's face lit up with adorable, almost boyish delight at my declaration, and in an instant he'd freed himself from my embrace and vanished upstairs with a brief 'wait here!'. Slightly puzzled by his actions, I waited nonetheless, and a short while later he came back down dragging a large steel case. It had an irritatingly squeaky wheel, and I winced at the sound as he pulled it into the centre of the room and laid it down on the carpet.

"What've you got there?" I asked. "Weapons? Spy gadgets? Also…where have you been hiding it? You know the rules!"

"One mo'," he said, methodically popping one catch after another. "I think you're gonna like this one."

"Oh, really?" I leaned in eagerly as he popped the final catch. Since Coop was born we'd had one simple rule; no 'work' tech, Avenger or otherwise, in the house. Considering how terrifyingly destructive most of it was, it made perfect sense…but at the same time a small part of me had always regretted it. If Clint was really about to let me play with the Avengers toys, then maybe we could let this one slide. Maybe.

With the final catch lifted, Clint removed the top of the case to reveal a shiny black sphere, half buried in shipping foam, and a pair of similarly black gloves, inlaid with silver wiring. He picked them up and then, after a moment's consideration, handed them over to me. I looked at them, and then looked to him for an explanation.

"Back in the day, we didn't always have the luxury of plannin' at HQ," he said, "Sometimes we had to do it on the fly, often right before insertion, and Stark came up with this."

"Uh-huh," I said, sliding on the gloves, "So why do you have it?"

"It was…on the Quinjet," he said, a little evasively, "I figured it might be better for me to have it in case I ever needed it. After all, Fury or Potts would've just stuffed it into storage."

"You stole it?"
"I used my initiative!"

"Funny, that's exactly what Lila said the last time I found her in the cookie jar."

"Well…we always said she took after me, right?" he said wryly. "And look, if you turned any one of the Avengers upside down and shook 'em, I reckon you'd find enough Stark tech to set you up for life. The guy was a mess, but we shouldn't be tossing his gadgets out the window just 'cause he's gone. Especially considering what we could be up against."

"Which is what, exactly?" I raised an eyebrow. "And how is this thing going to help us?"

"Give it a go," he said. "Just press your thumb and forefingers together…yeah, like that, and hold 'em for one…two—"

With a high-pitched whine the black sphere blazed to life, and a holographic image of the world flickered into existence in midair, surrounded by windows of scrolling, shifting data. Most of it made little sense to me; there were little red pins embedded in seemingly random countries and attached to them were small screens filled with graphs and text that was too small to be easily read. Here and there, though, there was something a little clearer; above Tokyo was a bright red marker linked to an image of some large, important looking buildings. There were a number of photos, too — grainy, clearly captured from CCTV footage, but they were all of the same hooded figure carrying a sword on his back.

"Wow," I said, and struggled to find the right words, "I mean…wow. We cannot tell the children about this."

"Yeah, I know," Clint said, and I could hear a sudden thrum of tension in his voice.

"Hey, you said you were in Tokyo," I said, and nodded at the images. "Were you after that guy?"

"Um—"

"Sorry. I know you can't talk about your work. Forget I asked," I waved it aside, but found myself smiling broadly as I stared at the floating globe. This was all just so cool!

"Um…so…what you'll want to do is close this file and open a new one for Thera. Just clap your hands together—"

I clapped, and the globe vanished. It was replaced with a grid of people or things, which I assumed must have been of interest to the Avengers in times long past.

Clint relaxed, almost imperceptibly. "Okay, just point at-"

"I've got it," I said quickly, and pointed at an empty cell. It expanded, and beneath it appeared a row of fields for data insertion. I pointed at the first row, and a soft keyboard popped into existence right under my fingertips. "Seriously, Clint? You've been holding out on me!"

"Believe me, if Fury discovered that I let you play around with this, I'd have ended up on the Raft before I knew what hit me," he said. "You too, probably."

I hesitated, "And what about now?"

Clint shrugged, "If he asks, I'll say I was chasing down a lead. Anyway…what do we know about this guy?"

"Not a whole lot. For a start, we don't know his name-"

"Well, let's just put 'Thera' in for now."

"Sure," I tapped away.

"Height? Build?"

"Kinda unremarkable. For both."

"Hair colour?"

"Don't know," I said. "He was wearing that horrible beanie cap."

"Eye colour?"

"Green, but he did say they were contacts."

"He could have been lying," Clint pointed out. "We'll just add it for now until we know more."

"Oh - he had that accent."

"Put that in too," he said. "Just make a quick note by it that he said he wasn't English, though—"

"Yeah, I've got it!" I said. "And hey, when you asked me to help I didn't realise you wanted me to be your secretary. What else can this thing do?"

Clint smiled, "You'll see. We don't know much about him, but we do know where he 'works'. Put the address in...there, yeah - and press that button next to—"

The information vanished and was replaced with a satellite image of the strip mall where we had been just this morning. After a moment, a car drove past, speeding down the interstate, and I looked up to see Clint's smile turn devilish.

"Live satellite imagery. Pretty neat, right?"

"Pretty creepy, you mean," I replied. "You realise Stark could've been watching our house this whole time!"

"Why would he do that? 'Sides, he was too busy being a half-cut playboy billionaire to waste his time watching footage, and too neurotic and possessive of his toys to let anyone else do it instead."

"True," I said. "Is it me, or are all your bosses half crazy?"

"Stark wasn't my boss," Clint looked a little hurt. "Sure, he kinda funded the Avengers, kitted us out, and set us up with a base of operations, but he was…the face of the organisation. You know, while Nat and I did all the real work behind the scenes. In fact I joined before him, which I'm pretty sure makes me his boss."

"Sure thing, Hawkeye," I threw him an amused glance. "So now what?"

"If you kinda twist your hands…yeah, you see how that zooms in and out? Get in close enough and you can even see what people're reading."

"Still seems creepy, hon."

He shrugged, "Nobody ever said saving the world was a clean business. Anyway, can you rewind? Just spin your finger in the air...yeah, like that."

I twirled my finger as directed, and watched the car stop and reverse direction, "Neat. Just how far back can we go?"

"Oh, about ten years," Clint said, and I felt a thrill rush through me. "I mean, there might not always be a satellite where you're looking, but— hold on, there we are!"

We watched in silence as our car pulled into the car park, and then Clint and I hopped out, took cover behind the car, and then ran swiftly towards the side of the half-built warehouse.

"We look even sillier than I remember," I snorted. "Totally unnecessary, too."

Clint shook his head, "Better to be safe than sorry. Who knows who could've been there?"

"Well—" there was a subtle shift in the shadows on the roof, and I found myself scrambling for the pause button. "Wait! There was someone there! Look!"

Clint peered at the mass of shadows, his expression dubious.

"You sure? I was watching the rooftops. I should've—"

"Hold on," I unpaused it, and the shadow rolled over and stood up. It stayed out of sight, safely away from the edge of the roof, but nevertheless tracked us perfectly as we hugged the wall around the side. The instant we vanished from view, it turned and picked its way carefully across the corrugated metal and lay down by one of the many holes in wait.

"Stop," Clint said, and then barked. "Stop!"

"I am, I am!"

"Zoom in," he directed, his expression suddenly very serious indeed. I did so, and as the image expanded it was clear that our watcher was a slender woman, with rich dark skin and a hairdo that could be best described as 'big'. She was dressed for action, in a dark top and cargo pants, and slung across her back was a long, smooth, matte black rifle with a scope and heavy stock.

"There was a sniper!" Clint breathed, and his face turned grey. "I knew there was something wrong!"

"Sure, but why didn't she react when we kicked in the door? You had Thera at your mercy!"

"Well, let's keep watching," he said, and I started the feed once again. Down in the warehouse there was a flicker of movement, and I could just about make us out as we walked up the stairs. The woman shifted, and I felt a chill go down my spine as she unslung her rifle and settled into a firing position. She braced, her hand shifting towards the trigger—

—and then the sniper cocked her head, as if she'd heard something. A moment later, she relaxed, released her grip, and slung the rifle back across her back before leaping to her feet. She ran quickly across the roof, leaping nimbly from strut to strut, and vaulted smoothly down a rusty access ladder. In a flash, she was out of view.

"I wonder what stopped her?" I said. "You saw how she looked up, right? She clearly heard something."

Clint nodded, "Probably something Thera said; y'know, a code word. Still, if we thought he was up to no good before…"

"So what do we do?"

"I'm sorry, Laura," He exhaled heavily. "But I'd better check this one out alone. It's too dangerous."

"What?" I protested. "Come on! You can't dangle something like this in front of me and then snatch it away—"

"This isn't a game, hon!" Clint's voice cracked like a whip. "Damnit, I knew there was something wrong when we were there! We were this close to getting shot. You were this close—"

"Uh oh!" whispered my little inner voice, "Better head this one off quickly!"

"We don't know that sniper was there for us!" I said. "Maybe Thera deals with a lot of rough customers? He might need extra security!"

"No; if you want people to behave, you hire big, angry looking men and have them stand nearby lookin'... big and angry," Clint said. "You get a sniper in if you want someone dead!"

"Well, he clearly didn't want us dead! Doesn't that mean anything?"

Clint sat down heavily, his head in his hands, "This is serious, babe. I put you in danger because I didn't get out of there when I should've done. If we keep going, I'll be putting you in more danger."

"This guy knows all about us! I could already be in danger!"

"That's no reason to make it worse!" He snapped, "I can—"

"Go and put yourself in danger? How is that okay?" I snapped back. "For the record, this is exactly how I felt every time you went off on a mission!"

"But I always come back. You know that!" He protested. "You…you didn't."

I inhaled sharply, and in that instant the twisting, churning anger came howling back with a vengeance. Suddenly, I found myself rooted to the spot, quivering with barely suppressed rage as I fought desperately for control. The urge to shout, or scream, or just give in and break something was almost overpowering, and I felt my resolve begin to crack in the face of an unrelenting tide of fury—

"Hon?" Clint's voice intruded on my emotional maelstrom, and I felt his hand on my shoulder. "Hon, are you okay?"

At his touch, the storm faded as quickly as it arrived. It was still there, waiting hungrily somewhere in my subconscious, and in its wake there was a hollow feeling of confusion and shame. What the hell was that about? For a moment there, I'd been so close to—

"Hon," Clint repeated. "C'mon; talk to me."

"I'm…I'm fine," I exhaled slowly, and reached up to take his hand with mine. "And I know you're scared, honey, but I'm not backing down. Not if our kids are in danger!"

"I can't lose you again," he choked. "I can't."

"And I can't lose you!" I said, "It doesn't matter, though, 'cause that's not going to happen."

"But—"

"But nothing. Now, what're we going to do?"

Clint looked at me, and then smiled, "Well, I guess we've got this equipment. We…might as well use it?"

"Now you're talking!" I said encouragingly. "So how should we use it?"

"We're…" He stared at the satellite imagery for just a moment. "We're gonna watch the rest of this footage. See if anyone else turns up."

"Other clients?"

He laughed, "You really think he's got other clients, hon? Nah; if he's got visitors they'll be co-conspirators, at best."

"Okay, well…" I held up a finger. "Keep your eyes peeled, Hawkeye. Time for you to live up to your name."

We watched the rest of the footage in fast-forward. For the most part, nothing happened; the interstate was quiet, barring the occasional car, and there were no visitors that day. Clint watched the footage intently, his eyes flickering between the interstate, the warehouse, and the forests beyond. After we reached 'now', he quietly directed me to rewind to the previous day, and then the days before that. After a solid week without any signs of life, Clint motioned for me to stop, a look of grim puzzlement on his face.

"Nothing," he said, and exhaled slowly.

"They could be coming through the trees; that canopy's pretty thick," I suggested. "Or they're moving around at night."

"Could be. I guess it was probably a bit much to hope we'd catch 'em out like that," he said, and pointed to the warehouse. "Right; this place will have a phone line, and he must be using either short-range transmitters or a cell phone to talk with that woman on the roof. What we need to do is get back there and tap both of them—"

"—so we can listen in on their sordid little schemes?"

"Right!" Clint said, and gave me a sly look, "You still remember how to make phone taps, hon? I know it's been a while."

"A 'while'? Try eighteen years!"

"Twenty-three," he muttered, just loud enough to hear.

"Doesn't matter! What matters is that you left me for that S.H.I.E.L.D. workshop!"

He winced, "You're still sour about that? I told you, Fury—"

"Yeah, I know. You're terrified of your crazy cyclops boss," I waved it aside, and chuckled. "It's okay; I knew one day, you'd come crawling back to me. Crawling, Clint."

Clint smiled broadly, "You're lovin' this, aren't you."

"You've got no idea how much, hon," I returned the smile. "I've got the old blueprints locked up in my workshop, and I'm pretty sure we can get everything we need from an electronics store. 'Should only take an afternoon or so to put it all together."

"Amazin', hon. I knew I made the right choice."

"Just doing my part," I said, and tried to keep my pride from showing. "That doesn't help us with the transmitter, though. My stuff's too old school to handle things like that."

Clint pattered the black sphere, "This can handle that. As long as it's in range, I don't reckon we'll have a problem."

"Okay…" I said, "Well, that seems like the beginning of a plan. Now let's get this thing away before the kids get home. No way am I explaining to them what's going on."

-LB-

Moving quickly, Clint and I put the lid back on the suitcase and hauled it back upstairs to our bedroom, where it was sequestered under the bed. Even if it was out of sight, though, it wasn't out of mind, and I could feel it tugging at me, whispering dark, enticing thoughts that I knew were only going to grow stronger with time. Ten years of historical imagery? How very interesting…

"Trust me, Laura. You don't want to go down that path," warned the voice. "You're not ready."

"Ready or not, I need to know what happened," I murmured.

"Do you? I'm sure you haven't forgotten about your little freak-out earlier. You're barely holding it together as it is; what if this is the straw that breaks the camel's back?"

Before I could come up with a good answer to that, I heard the distant sound of tires rumbling down the road. A moment later, Clint cocked his head, looked up and tensed.

"What's that? Sounds big," he asked suspiciously. "You'd better wait here."

"Easy, tiger. It's probably just the school bus!" I said, and glanced quickly at the time. "Christ, where did the day go?"

"No idea," Clint relaxed, but just barely. "How'd you think they got on?"

"'Guess we're about to find out," I said, and felt a thrum of anxiety settle into my bones. With everything else that'd been going on, I'd barely had time to think about my kids' first day back at school. It'd seemed okay on the bus, but still…

Carefully, I crept to the upstairs window and watched as the bus came to a halt nearby. The doors hissed open, and my heart sank as a clearly despondent Lila came down the steps, followed by her brother. Gently, he took her by the hand and led her down the drive towards our front door.

"That ain't good," Clint remarked, "Laura—"

I was already moving. In a flash I shot downstairs, taking the steps two at a time, and almost wrenched the front door off its hinges as I raced outside. Underfoot, stones bit and cut painfully at my feet, but I ignored them as I rushed forwards and swept my weeping daughter into a long, loving embrace.

"It was Maisie, Mom," Cooper said, quietly.

"She didn't Blip, Mom! She didn't Blip!" Lila choked, "She's…she's old!"

"Oh, darling," I said soothingly, "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"She screamed at me, Mom! She called me a…a ghost, and a 'Blipper', and then she told me she hates me! She…she—"

Lila's voice broke, and I held her as she sobbed uncontrollably into my chest. There was a crunch of dirt from somewhere behind me, and then Clint was there, ruffling Lila's hair and gently patting her on the back.

"Damn, hon, you're quick when you want to be!" He remarked, and then immediately put his foot in it. "Was it Maisie?"

"Yes," I bit out, and glared daggers at my husband. "It was Maisie."

Lila gasped and struggled free of my grasp. Her eyes were still red and tearstained, but now they flashed angrily, "You knew, Mom? You knew she didn't Blip?"

"Well, I—" I faltered in the face of her sudden fury. "I—"

"We knew," Clint said, and put his hand on my shoulder. "Or…we figured she hadn't."

Lila looked between us, her expression a mix of shock and betrayal, "And you didn't tell me?"

"We meant to, but—"

"—but what?" she said scornfully. "'If its and buts were candy and nuts, we'd all have a Merry Christmas?'. Isn't that what you used to say?"

"I know. We screwed up. I screwed up. It's my fault."

I shook my head, "No, hon, it's not. I—"

"We were gonna tell you this morning," he went on, smoothly rolling over my objection. "But I had to dash out early, and your Mom got so worried about where I'd gone that it slipped her mind."

"So? So?" Lila snapped, "How long have you known? When did you 'figure it out'?"

I bit my lip, "After Mrs Armstrong's visit."

"That was last week!" Her voice went up a full octave, "You knew for a whole week?"

"...yes," I said sadly. "Dad's right, Lil. I let you down, and I'm sorry. There's no excuse, but—"

"—I don't care!" she shouted and rounded in on us. "Dad doesn't want to shoot with me anymore, Maisie said she hates me, and you lied to me!"

"Lila, please—"

"No! Just leave me alone!"

With a cry, she leapt to her feet and ran inside, slamming the front door behind her as hard as she could. Clint, Coop and I stared at each other in shocked silence, and then I closed my eyes and muttered 'Shit!'.

"You okay, Mom?" Coop ventured. "If it…helps, I saw it happen."

"Yeah?" I looked blearily up at him. "How bad was it?"

"Pretty bad. Some people took videos."

"They what?"

"Yeah. I got Lila out of there as fast as I could. Wasn't sure what else to do."

"That was good of you, Coop," Clint said approvingly. "And very brave."

Coop shrugged, "So where'd you go this morning, Dad?"

"To get the new Barton-mobile." Clint nodded towards the sleek black car, stowed away around the side of the farmstead. "If you'd like, we could take it for a ride later."

"A new car? Sweet!" Coop enthused, and then his expression turned dubious. "You, uh, gonna let Mom work on it?"

My eyebrows went up, "Excuse me? I did great work on that truck!"

"The wheels fell off, Mom. All of them, at once. It wasn't even moving."

"You can't really 'work' on these new cars, Coop," Clint said, in a disgustingly reassuring tone. "You need two degrees just to get the hood up."

"Spoilsports," I muttered, and clambered to my feet. "Still, I guess we'd better go talk to Lila."

"It's okay, Mom," Coop said, and when I looked he had a strange smile on his face, "I'll go."

"No, Coop," I sighed wearily. "It's our fault."

He snorted, "No kidding, Mom, but it was kinda cool seeing you guys standing up for each other. Like you used to."

"Yeah," I smiled at Clint, "You didn't have to do that, you know. Now she's pissed off at both of us."

"She was already pissed off at me, remember? It's fine, hon; I've got this," he said, and got to his feet. "'Sides, someone needs to go grab Nate from school, so…"

"Okay, I get it," I said. "Tell her I'm sorry. And that I love her."

"If we get that far," Clint said, and then leaned in for a quick kiss. "'Guess it's time for me to have one of those 'difficult conversations' that damn therapist was on about. Wish me luck, eh?"

I spent the drive to Nate's school in a haze of anxiety and guilt, with Lila's accusations ringing in my ears. There was no two ways about it; I'd messed up, badly, and I promised myself that if this ever all blew over, I'd make it up to her. Somehow.

"If, of course, she ever wants to speak to you again."

"Shut up," I growled. "Lila's like Clint; she doesn't hold grudges."

The voice chuckled dryly, and my fears only deepened as the crowds of parents came into view. In the middle there was a large group, all smiles and tears as they greeted one another like old friends, but on either side there were two smaller groups who were regarding the others with a mixture of distrust and anger. As I approached, some of the parents gave me a surprisingly baleful look, and pointedly turned away to talk amongst themselves.

"If I had to guess, I'd say they were…people who Blipped, and people who didn't," said my little inner voice. "Mark my words; those groups might look small now, but give them time. They'll start to demand people pick a side."

"That's just stupid," I muttered.

"Stupid…prideful…tell me, who does that remind you of?"

"Yeah, I get it. I was an idiot—" I began, and then someone touched me gently on the arm.

"Laura? Laura Barton?" I recognised the voice, and turned to see an elderly woman with hard, angular features. Like so many others, she hadn't aged a day in the past five years.

"Val?" I said, and tried to inject some cheer into my voice. Val was a bit of a character; although her children had long since left home, she still viewed the school as her own personal kingdom. She chaired the governors board, ran fetes and fundraisers, and was good enough at it that by and large people left her to it and overlooked her more acerbic qualities. Right now, I wasn't really in the mood for her pointed observations, but she followed me as I plunged through throngs of gossiping parents towards the gate, as seemingly unshakable as a limpet.

"This is pretty crazy, right?" She said, in an uncharacteristically quiet tone. "I still can't believe what's happened."
"Join the club," I said shortly. "It's rough all over, Val."

"You Blipped too, didn't you?" Val said, and I sighed internally. Clearly, I was in this 'till the end. "I saw your kid this morning, too, so…"

"Yeah, we all got taken. Except for my husband."

"That's awful! How's…how's he doing?"

"He's at home with Coop and Lila," I said. "I think he's enjoying learning how to be a father again."

"And a spouse, right? Five years is a long time to wait for a dead woman. Possibly too long."

"Oh yeah? Well, he did!" I said sharply, as I felt the anger begin to curdle deep within. "And I'll thank you not to call me a 'dead woman', too!"

"Suit yourself," she shrugged, apparently immune to my sudden flare-up. "Most of the parents here would probably kill to have a partner as devoted as yours. Mine…didn't make it."

In an instant the anger was gone, and pity flooded in in its wake. No wonder she was so desperate for company… "Oh, Val. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," she shook her head, "The doctors only gave him six months. I just didn't expect to be Snapped four days later, but the thought of him all alone…Christ! I just wish I could've been there for him."

That hit me, right in the gut. It hit me far harder than it should have done, than it had any right to, but once again that cold, pure rage shot through my bones.

"Be patient, and be forgiving," my little inner voice said, echoing Thera's words. "Be patient…"

With a long, deep breath, I looked skywards and slowly unclenched my hands. I hadn't even realised I'd clenched them.

"Are you okay, Laura?" Val said. "You—"

"Val!" A loud, harsh voice rang out, and we both turned to look. From the group I'd mentally termed the 'Non-Blippies', two parents detached and came striding over with an air of sanctimonious self-satisfaction.

"Oh great. It's Liv and Paul," the inner voice supplied, helpfully. From what little gossip had reached my ears, I knew that Liv had been jockeying for Val's position since forever, with Paul as her simpering second. They'd failed for two reasons; firstly, Val ran a tight ship, and most people were happy with her performance, if not her personality. Secondly, Liv had a terrible personality.

"Val…Val," Liv sighed, and then smiled a victorious smile. "Didn't I tell you that your services were no longer required?"

Val suddenly seemed a whole lot smaller, "But—"

"—but what?" Liv's eyes narrowed, "Did you really think you could just pop out of the woodwork after five years and start laying down the law? This is our school now, Val!"

"Yeah!" Paul added, rather unnecessarily.

Val looked to me for support. In her pleading expression I saw Lila, desperate for someone, anyone, to protect her against a world that'd left her behind, and a surge of maternal protectiveness came rushing to the surface.

"Hey!" I said, placing myself between Val and the interlopers. "Just hold on a minute, Liv—"

"What?" Liv's gaze turned on me. "Are you going to start telling us how to do things as well, Barton? Did you come up with some good ideas during that dirt nap of yours?"

"Be patient and be forgiving. Remember that!" my inner voice said, as raw, toe-curling rage flared anew. "Be patient and be forgiving!"

"No, Liv," I said, through gritted teeth. "But Val's husband is dead! If you throw her off the committees then what is she meant to do all day? This school is her life!"

"Then she should have considered that before she left us to pick up the pieces!" Liv retorted. "We saved this school! We built it back up from nothing, and we kept everything together while the world was falling apart!" There was a rumble of agreement from the parents forming up behind her, and I felt a sudden chill. "We will not have a batty old Blippie march back in and tell us how things used to be done just so you can run a Care in the Community center!"

"So you're going to run her out of the school, are you?" I asked, my voice trembling with barely repressed rage. "Just for the sake of your egos?"

"She's not part of this school, Barton. Not anymore!" Liv snarled. "She's a freaking ghost!"

Once again I heard Lila's tearful sobs echoing in my ears, and then my anger exploded into a white hot sun. Before I really knew what I was doing, I lunged forward and punched Liv right in her smug, smiling mouth. My hand exploded with pain, but as she staggered back I stepped forwards and hit her as hard as I could, right on the nose!"

"Christ!" Paul leapt between us, before I could line up a final blow. "What the hell's gotten into you, Laura?"

"Call her a ghost again, Liv!" I screamed, as Paul struggled to hold me back. "I dare you! Call her a ghost one more fucking time and I'll fucking end you!"

"You…you hit me!" Liv said. She wiped her nose, and stared in shock at the blood on her hand. "That hurt!"

"Oh, it hurt, did it?" I yelled. "What did it hurt like, Liv? Did it hurt like being disintegrated, or losing one of your best friends, or— get the hell off me, Paul!"

With surprisingly little effort, I grabbed Paul by the face and threw him to the ground, and then advanced menacingly on the suddenly terrified Liv.

"What's…what's gotten into you, Laura?" she said, backing away as fast as her high heels would let her. "This isn't like you!"

"I don't know!" I growled, raising my fist for that final blow. "Maybe I'm in a bad mood after my five year 'dirt nap', or maybe I just really don't like bullies, Liv. What do you think?"

Before she could answer, a little voice called from beyond the school gate, "Mommy? Mommy, is that you?"

Nate's voice doused the flames like a bucket of cold water. Shocked back to reality, I looked at the shaking, whimpering woman in front of me, clutching at her face, and I realised just how close I'd come to beating her to a bloody pulp.

"I…" I lowered my hand and backed away. I could feel the shocked stares of the other parents all around me, but I ignored them as I turned towards my son. "Honey?"

"What are you doing, Mommy? You told me hands aren't for hitting!" My youngest's voice tore at my heart, as did the cold, deeply disapproving expression of his teacher, standing immediately behind him.

"Mrs Barton," she said icily, in a voice that brooked no argument. "I will speak with you after all the other parents have left. I will not—"

Her gaze flickered towards Liv, and with a start I turned just in time to see a fist, covered in jewelry, rocketing towards my face.

And then I saw stars.

"You know, I kinda figured sending you to pick up Nate was giving you the easy job," Clint was saying, wth some amusement. "Now, hold still while I put this dressing on."

"Please…please be quiet," I groaned. I had a splitting headache, and the bag of frozen peas Clint had found wasn't doing much for the pain. "Seriously; who would've known that Liv could punch that hard?"

"Well, it's obvious you can't," he said, inspecting my knuckles with a critical eye. "If you'd listened to me about those self-defence classes, maybe you would've have busted up your hand so much! What happened?"

I smiled, weakly, "'Turns out I really don't like Liv."
"You've never liked her," Clint said. "I don't remember you breakin' her nose, though. You feelin' okay, hon?"

"No. No, not really," I admitted. "When Liv called Val a 'ghost', the only thing I could think about was how Maisie'd treated Lila…and I completely lost it."

"Yeah, I saw. Coop says you're an Internet sensation. You're 'trending'."

"Oh, Christ. Please tell me we can block that website," I groaned again. "I didn't want to set this kind of example for the kids."

"It'll be fine. They'll be fine," Clint assured me. "We had a good talk, too. I think Lila's feeling a…little better, at least."
"Oh yeah?" I looked up, "What'd you say?"

"I'll tell you later," Clint said, and then chuckled quietly as he finished up on my hand. "There! It's not perfect, but it'll do. Proper battlefield medicine for my partner in crime, after her first real mission."

"Hah. Don't make me laugh," I said, and then reached for his hand. "Hey, Clint?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think…we'll be okay?"

He frowned, "I hope so. Why?"

I thought about it for a moment. "Something Val said made me think about how lucky I am. Five years is a long time, but you waited. I…just don't want you to regret that."

"'Course I don't," Clint said. "'Sides, you wouldn't be with me if you weren't a little bit mad, right? It's gotta show up sometime."

"That's…one way of putting it," I said, and decided to go for broke. "Maybe it's the concussion speaking, but you don't, um…"
"Don't 'um'...what?"

"You don't happen to have those commando leathers you were talking about around anywhere, do you?" I said, and felt my cheeks prickle with heat. "Only I was…um…"

Clint looked briefly surprised, and then Clint's expression turned distinctly mischievous, "Y'know, I just might."

"Good!" I said. "So go and find them, then! That's an order, soldier!"

Clint's smile broadened, and as he leapt to feet my phone buzzed noisily in my pocket. Moving carefully to avoid dislodging the frozen peas, I pulled it out to check the front screen. It read:

'MRS BARTON:

Your followup counseling session is booked for next Monday at 11:00am. Please arrive in good time to allow the session to proceed smoothly'.

I paused, smiled, and then put it back in my pocket. That was next Monday, and we had an entire week to prepare for whatever Thera was planning. Right now, all I wanted was a quiet evening with my husband, a nice duvet, and a roaring fireplace.

And, of course, those commando leathers.