Chapter Five: A Lion at the Door
The next day couldn't come fast enough. I slept fitfully, and as soon as the sun poked its head above the treeline I leapt out of bed, showered, and rushed downstairs to make breakfast. I swept through the kitchen like a whirlwind, making toast, setting places, and piling the table with condiments until the wood groaned in protest. If someone were watching, I was sure they'd think I was having another Blip-induced manic episode — but they would've been wrong! For the first time since the Blip, I had purpose, I had direction, and my mind positively thrummed as I imagined all the excitement I could get up to as an Honorary Avenger…
In my reverie, I barely noticed the creak coming from the upstairs landing. A moment later, Lila came bounding down the stairs and into the kitchen, as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as ever.
"Morning, Mom!" She said brightly, as if the events of yesterday had never happened. I smiled warmly in response; my daughter could be a high-octane handful at times, but she was also one of the most generous and forgiving souls I'd ever met. It scared me sometimes; mostly for people taking advantage of her good nature, but at the same time I envied her ability to just let things go.
"Morning, kiddo!" I came around the table to give her a tight hug and a kiss. "Sleep well? You hungry?"
"Yeah, I—" Her eyes panned across the breakfast table, and she squealed in delight. "Chocolate spread? Really? Thanks, Mom!"
I blinked and followed her gaze to the small jar of brown goo, sitting traitorously atop the chequered tablecloth. How had that gotten there? It was a weekend treat, otherwise kept out of sight and out of mind for good, historical reasons. I must've been so preoccupied with visions of high-tech espionage that—
"Whoops; didn't mean to get that out!" I said, and went to pick it up. "Sorry, Lil."
"Aw, Moooom!" She looked at me piteously, and my will wavered in the face of those big, doleful eyes. Everyone deserved extra chocolate spread at some point in their lives, didn't they? And after everything that'd happened…
"Okay, fine. Just this once!" I put it back on the table and fixed her with a stern stare. "But not too much; you have enough trouble focusing as it is, young lady!"
"Yes, Mom! Thanks, Mom!" She rushed forward to snatch up the jar before I could change my mind, and in an instant a piece of toast was buried deep beneath a thick, chocolate stratum. My severe gaze softened, and after a brief moment's indecision I joined her at the table.
"Hey, Lil?" I said, and gently tucked a lock of her hair back behind an ear. "I'm…sorry I forgot to tell you about Maisie. I was so wrapped up in myself that—"
"Oh, that's okay!" Lila paused, and a glob of chocolate slithered onto her plate. "Dad told us all about it! He said you were going through a…a…—" her brow furrowed, "—an extradimensional crisis?"
"He did, did he?"
"Yup! Does it hurt? Because Kitiyama had an extradimensional crisis in episode twenty-eight of Unicorn Samurais and now she's got a robot arm! Are you going to get a robot arm?"
"Dad said existential crisis, squirt," Coop said, as he came shambling through the door. He looked at Lila, looked at me, then flopped down on a chair and stared blearily at the table.
"Late night last night?" I said lightly. "Didn't I warn you about staying up all hours playing video games?"
There was a grunt of acknowledgement.
"Well, you'd better hurry up and eat; the bus'll be here soon!"
Coop yawned noisily. "The bus won't be here for another twenty minutes, Mom. What's gotten into you?"
"Nothing! Why? Do you think something's gotten into me?"
He held my gaze for a moment, and shrugged. "Whatever, Mom. Maybe you should switch to decaf, like Dad."
"Say that one more time and I'll watch your mouth out with soap, dear," I said, and leaned across the table to retrieve a slice of toast. "There's some things we just don't say."
"I dunno, hon; it sounds like an excellent idea," Clint said. He clumped heavily down the stairs, leading a freshly-washed Nate by the hand. "Of course, Coop'll need to stop drinking all that soda, so…"
"Aw, a bit of soda isn't going to kill me, Dad," Cooper said, and added, "'Sides, I've already died once."
There was a crunch as I reflexively crushed the toast I had been buttering, and I suddenly found myself the center of attention of the entire table. I smiled weakly, and made a show of carefully shaking the crumbs off my hand onto the plate.
"Sorry. Maybe I have been drinking too much caffeine." I said, and quickly changed the subject. "So, you two gonna have fun at school?"
Cooper shrugged. "I guess. We've been learning about what happened during the Blip. It's pretty wild, you know."
"We've been watching interviews with some of the Avengers!" Lila said excitedly, between bites of her breakfast. "Did you know that Doctor Strange looked at fourteen million timelines, and this is the only one where we won? There's loads of other ones! There's ones where the Avengers couldn't bring us back, or where they brought us back and someone accidentally blew up the Earth, or where they brought us back and then Thanos used the Gauntlet to destroy the entire universe!"
"No, I didn't know that," I said, and sat back. "That's...wow."
"Yeah, an' I'd imagine that Strange is off a lot of peoples' Christmas card lists," Clint growled angrily. "We all thought you were gone forever! If he'd said that it would've been five years then—"
"Oh, oh, he said that if he told anyone then we would lose for sure!" Lila continued. "He couldn't even tell Tony Stark, even though he…y'know…"
"Why didn't you give an interview, Dad?" Cooper said suddenly. "I mean, you were there! You did as much as anyone!"
"Well, I don't know about that…" for a moment, Clint looked adorably abashed. "Besides, your mother and I moved down here to get away from the cameras."
"But—"
"But nothing," he said firmly. "I didn't join the Avengers for publicity. I joined them to stop some very bad people, and the last thing I want is for those people to start following me home. That's why we tell you kids not to talk about it at school."
"So why don't you wear a mask?"
Clint shifted uncomfortably. "Sometimes I do. But nobody's made a mask that doesn't get in the way somehow. I'd rather go without."
"I reckon you'd still be great with a mask on, Daddy," Lila said.
"Of course I would, honey," he ruffled her hair, and looked sharply at the clock. "Alright kids — The bus'll be here in just a sec! Go grab your things!"
Coop and Lila scrambled to their feet and rushed out into the corridor, leaving dirty plates and scattered crumbs in their wake. Clint and I stared at each other over the table, and then I leaned back and folded my arms.
"So, I'm having an existential crisis, am I?" I cocked an eyebrow. "What did you tell them, Clint? Lila thinks I'm going to get a robot arm!"
"Hah, she wishes," Clint chuckled. "I just told 'em the truth."
"Which is?"
"That their parents ain't perfect. It's something everyone's gotta learn as they grow up," he said. "For me, it was seein' Mom being put in the back of a police cruiser. For you, it was how your Mom handled your Dad's death—"
"—yeah," I said shortly. "So what did you say about me?"
"That you work so hard to look after everyone else that you forget to look after yourself," he said. "Only this time, it was too much for you to handle."
I nodded slowly, "That's…a truth, I guess, but I didn't hear the words 'prideful, stubborn idiot'."
"'Cause I didn't use them," he said, with a slight smile. "Look, hon; we all know you're the rock, an' I think you know it too. Without you, we'd probably be eatin' each other before sunset."
"Well…" I looked down bashfully. "I wouldn't go that far…"
"I would. Trouble is, you're so good at it that I think sometimes we just…let you do it, an' maybe you don't always ask for help when you should, 'cause you're—"
"A prideful, stubborn idiot?"
He winced, "I was gonna say 'determined'."
"Yeah, but you were thinking it."
"I plead the fifth," he said dryly. "But from now on we're all gonna be doin' more to help you out. You need a chanceto unwind."
"I'm fine! I don't need youto—" I stopped, and felt my cheeks flush. "Right. Stubborn. Prideful. Got it."
"Just give 'em a chance, okay?" He said quietly. "They're good kids, but they're never gonna learn if you're standin' over them correcting every last mistake."
"Yeah, you're right." I exhaled, and looked wryly down at the remnants of the kids' breakfasts. "That being said, I guess I know who's tidying this up."
Clint leapt to his feet, "It's okay. I've got it—"
"No, hon," I reached out to take his hand. "This is the first time you've been able to see your kids off in years. There's no way I'm letting a couple of dirty dishes get in the way of that!"
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure, hon! Now go be a Dad!" I laughed, and chivvied him and Nate out of the kitchen. "You know you deserve it."
I watched with growing impatience while my clan scrambled about collecting bags, coats, and shoes. As soon as they were ready, I shooed them out the door with a quick round of hugs and kisses, and then went to tidy up the kitchen. While a small part of me felt a little bad about booting them out so quickly, it was almost inaudible compared to the giddy squeals of excitement coming from deep within. Despite my best efforts, I found myself smiling broadly as I loaded the dishwasher and rushed around, jamming condiments and cutlery back in their rightful places. Me! Doing Avenger stuff! With Clint!
Through the kitchen window I heard the bus roll up and roll off, and a little while later the far quieter crunch of tyres as Clint set off with Nate. Once I was sure all the kids were out of sight, I closed up the house and headed for the barn, taking only a brief moment to text Clint on the way:
Come to barn. Bring the StarkThing(TM). Love L.
I hesitated before pressing 'send'. The barn was my sanctuary, the one place in the world where I could be by myself, doing things that I wanted to do because I wanted to do them. Both Coop and Lila knew better than to intrude, on pain of indefinite grounding, and even Clint only dared sneak in when he couldn't find the right tool in the house. It was a world removed from a world removed from the world; my ultimate hidey hole…so was I really about to throw the doors open like this? Yeah, I was; as much as I would've liked to pretend otherwise, Clint wasn't the only one who needed to make an effort.
I flicked the switch, and the lights blazed to life with an actinic hue. Replacing the previous, dying bulbs had been one of the first things I'd done during my frenzied clean-sweep, but it hadn't ended there. The mouldering hay was gone, the floor pressure-washed to within an inch of its life, and the rusted, abandoned farming equipment was now boxed up and awaiting disposal. Every surface that could shine, shone, and those that couldn't smelt of well-sanded wood and fresh coats of varnish. It was an impressive transformation, made even more so by the fact I'd done it all myself, but now all I could think was how hollow it all was. This wasn't the work of a woman who'd set out to make this place better; it was the work of a woman on the edge, desperate to maintain some control over her life even as it crumbled into dust. Her emotions swirled darkly through the air, and as I strode across the burnished floor I flung open shutter after shutter. The light that streamed in seemed strangely pale, weak and wan, but it was a start.
My little workshop was no better. The small annex had been cluttered before, sure, and I could never quite find the tool that I was looking for, but it had been cosy. Now, the clutter was gone, but so was the warmth. Each carefully-polished tool sat in its properly appointed place, arranged with cold, mechanical precision, and my workbench positively sparkled, clean and pristine — no, not pristine, sterile. Everything was perfect, but it was a chilly perfection, tainted with obsession and devoid of humanity. As I stared, all I could do was hope that the part of my psyche responsible for this was now thoroughly put to rest.
"Oh, she's not," tittered my little inner voice. "She'll be back. You'll see."
"Quiet," I muttered, as I went straight for my vinyls. My Dad had been a bit of an audiophile, and while I didn't exactly share his love of all things analogue this collection was one of the few things I had to remember him by. With great care I selected one of Dad's favourites, placed it reverentially on my turntable, and smiled with satisfaction as the air filled with the kind of profanity-laced lyrics that would've earned Coop a very stern talking to. It didn't completely dispel the air of manic desperation, but maybe it never would. Maybe this was just something I was going to have to get used to.
With that slightly melancholy thought, I knelt down under the workbench and reached for my safe. It was an old-style safe, all cast iron and shining brass, and perhaps unsurprisingly had taken five years of neglect on the chin with nary a fleck of rust. Inside…well, inside were things that I simply wasn't meant to have — a broken Widow's bite, a H.Y.D.R.A. medallion, and lever-arch files filled with S.H.I.E.L.D. tech from days long past. I leafed through the collection, carefully turning crackling pages over and over as I hunted for a design that I knew was there. It was a tried and tested classic; a glorified phone with some crocodile clips, but it would need some upgrades to bring it into the post-Blip era. A wireless aerial, for starters, to allow it to talk with the StarkThing, and that meant a proper power supply, a breadboard—
"Hey hon, you in here?" Clint's voice echoed through the air, and I jumped in surprise. How the hell had he gotten back so soon? Curiously, I poked my head around the corner, and saw him standing in the middle of the barn with the large, black box right behind him. He smiled when he saw me, and the sun seemed to shine a little brighter. "I got your text."
"So I see," I said, and inclined my head as I emerged. "Didn't feel like talking to the other parents, then?"
"You kiddin'? Those gossips?" His expression clouded over. "I swear, another two minutes of listenin' to them slander you and I probably would've followed in your footsteps. The things they were sayin'…"
"That bad, is it?"
"You're pretty much persona non grata, hon. I'm probably going to be pickin' up Nate 'till he graduates," Clint said, and then he brightened. "On the other hand, that means I'll be able to keep that promise."
"What promise— oh!" Memories of yesterday flashed before my eyes. "Oh, hon; I didn't really mean that! I was just trying to be nice to you…y'know, in a weird, twisted-up kind of way."
"It's fine, hon. Really," Clint said gently. "It's like I told you; gettin' to pick him up is a dream come true. Literally."
I felt tears pricking at my eyes. "Are you sure? You mean that?"
"'Course I do. Never mind that, though; what's been goin' on in here?" He looked about admiringly. "You've really done a number on the Laura Cave!"
"That's one way of putting it— wait a second." The tears were gone, replaced by sudden suspicion. "What did you just call it?"
"The Laura Cave. What, you didn't know?" He said, and laughed at my expression. "C'mon; it's where you go to brood, it's filled with all your stuff, an' it's where you used to work on the Laura-mobile! What else're we gonna call it?"
"This is Coop's doing, isn't it? It's got his paw-prints all over it!" I snapped, but despite my best efforts I could feel a smile hovering traitorously just beneath the surface. "And I don't brood!"
"That's not what the kids say," Clint grinned. "An' you know we're right, hon; just admit it!"
"Fine! You win!" I said. "And I guess…y'know…"
"I know…what?"
I suddenly found myself looking at my boots. "Well, if we're going to do this, we're going to need a base of operations, right? I mean, Stark had Stark Towers, the Avengers had the Avenger Compound, and now we've got—"
"The Laura Cave?"
I glowered. "I was going to say 'the Barton Barn'."
"Sorry, hon, but the kids have spoken," Clint looked around again, and nodded in approval. "This is a good idea, though."
"It is, isn't it?" I said, eagerly. "The kids never come down here, we've got loads of room…"
"Yeah; it's perfect. So what else've you got?"
I looked at him coyly. "Well, I might've dug out some of the old designs. We'll need to go shopping for parts later, but I think I know what to do! Come and see!"
"That's great, hon, and — whoa, easy!" He exclaimed, as I all but dragged him into the workshop. "And if we've got time, I kinda need your help with something else…"
Over the next week, our lives settled into a strange routine. Every morning we'd see the kids off on the bus, and as soon as Clint came back from the school run we'd retreat to the so-called 'Laura Cave' to continue our preparations. For me, that meant being cooped up in my workshop, trying to turn bits and pieces bought from local electronics stores into a phone tap that could talk to the StarkThing. It was hard work at first, fiddly and frustrating in equal measure, but as I got into it I remembered just why I'd always loved tinkering so much. My mind raced with possibilities; what if I made it lighter? Could I increase the range? Would an internal aerial make it less conspicuous? I revelled in each new challenge, and each day I downed tools with a pang of disappointment.
Clint, for his part, split his time between bringing me endless cups of coffee and surveilling the warehouse via Stark's old satellites. There was almost nothing to see; on Wednesday, an arriving truck caused him great excitement and a flurry of activity, but aside from that the only person he saw was the sniper. Her movements were erratic; some days she was there, others she wasn't, but she seemed to spend her time camping out in the shade of a half-finished section of roof. It wasn't always easy to see what she was up to, but she mostly seemed to be sketching. Exactly what, we had no idea, but Clint seemed sure she was up to no good.
There were no two ways about it; between engineering and espionage I was having the time of my life, and as the days passed my happiness bubbled up until I was unable to contain it. I found myself walking with a spring in my step, whistling half-remembered scraps of long-forgotten showtunes, and the world around me seemed more vivid, full of life and colour. As night fell, though, dark thoughts crept from the corners of my mind and sang to me in sibilant, seductive tones. Had Stark's satellites really captured the moment I was Snapped? I deserved to know, didn't I? Didn't I want to? They gnawed patiently at me while I tossed and turned, safe in the knowledge that I would eventually break. I wanted to talk to Clint about it; I knew I should, even, but at the same time I just couldn't face the idea of forcing him to relive that terrible day. I'd caused so much grief already, and if suffering in silence meant easing his pain then that's what I was going to do. After all, he deserved to be happy.
Slowly, and by degrees, the shadows gathered in.
I wasn't quite sure when it happened, but all of a sudden it was Monday. It was time to put our plan into action, and as soon as Clint returned from the school run we loaded all the equipment into the car and set off down the country roads towards the warehouse.
"Okay, so let's just go over this one last time," Clint said. "We got two people, Thera and his bodyguard, sittin' in a warehouse in the middle of nowhere. They know almost everythin' about us, even things they couldn't know, but we don't know squat about them. We don't know where they've come from, what their capabilities are, what they want or who they're even workin' for. That all changes, startin' today."
"Agreed!" I said firmly. "You really think that phone tap'll work?"
"'Worked in the Laura Cave, didn't it? You do good work, hon." Clint smiled. "The tap ain't the problem. The problem is distractin' that sniper long enough to get into that junction box and set it up."
"Yeah, that's the bit I'm not sure about," I said. "They'll be expecting us together. If she sees me on my own, she might realise we're up to something."
Clint shrugged, "Maybe she will, but that's a risk we're gonna have to take. At the very least, there'll be a window of opportunity while she's workin' out what to do. Get to Thera, tell him I'm runnin' a last-minute errand, and…well, that should keep her from being suspicious enough to check the perimeter."
"I'll handle him. Don't worry."
"I know you will," Clint said. "But if you see an opportunity to get him out of the office, take it. It might give you a chance to see if he's keepin' anything incriminating in there. Once I've tapped the line, they won't be able to use so much as a walkie-talkie without us knowin' about it. After that, maybe we'll find out exactly what's going on."
As agreed, I dropped Clint off a short distance from the strip mall, in a small copse that offered good cover for his approach. Moving quickly, he retrieved his equipment from the trunk, before coming back round to the driver's side window.
"Got everything?" I asked, with a bright, rather fake smile.
"Yup. Phone tap, tools, and—" he held up a black fabric bag and slung it across his back. "—the cover story."
I nodded. Over the past few days, the contents of that bag had been the subject of several surprisingly heated debates. I'd eventually given in, but the idea still left a bad taste in my mouth. "You think he's going to go for it?"
"Oh, I reckon he'll eat it up," Clint chuckled, and gave me a searching look. "You okay, hon? If you don't want to do this—"
"No. We're doing this," I said firmly. "That 'therapist' knows all about our kids. If there's any risk at all…"
"Yeah, I know," Clint said. "Listen; just act natural. Don't worry about the sniper, an' don't give her any idea that you know she's there. Once you're about to head in, shoot me a text and I'll make my move."
"Got it. Anything else?"
"I love you," he said, and kissed me hard before vanishing into the undergrowth. I watched the leaves rustle, and as I sat back there was a satisfied sigh from somewhere deep inside.
"Quiet, you," I muttered, "We've got work to do."
It was a mercifully short trip to the warehouse. That was good, because if it had been any longer I likely would've had a heart attack. During our planning meetings, the idea of walking across open ground in full view of a capricious sniper with unknowable motives had seemed so easy. Now, as I drove alone into the enormous, empty parking lot, my hands were suddenly clammy and trembling, and I could hear my blood singing nervously through my ears.
"It's fine, just be casual," my inner voice said. "And whatever you do, try not to walk like you're in the sights of a sniper. One false move—"
"Yeah, I get it!" I muttered. Slowly and carefully, I climbed out of the car, while doing my level best not to look like I was moving slowly and carefully. The area seemed clear, but that didn't mean much; it had seemed clear the last time I was here, too. With a deep breath, I strode as confidently as I could across the parking lot, heading for the little door around the side.
"I think you might've confused 'casual' for 'marionette with her strings cut'."
"This isn't easy!" I protested. "She could be watching me right now!"
"I hope so. That was the plan. What we should've done was take that bag from Clint. That would've gotten her attention."
"And possibly got me shot!"
"Mmm, fair point. On the other hand, she didn't shoot Clint even when he was waving a bow in Thera's face. Do you really think that she'd shoot you just 'cause you're holding a bag?"
"Then why bring it at all?" I muttered, and pulled out my phone to send Clint the vital text. "I'd have to explain it to Thera, and...that's Clint's job."
"I suppose. Better get your head together, Laura. Remember; it's always the little details that catch out a lie."
"Okay…well," I pressed 'send', and took a moment to collect myself. "Here we go."
The warehouse door swung inwards at my touch, and I stopped in surprise. At some point over the past week, someone had made a serious effort to tidy this place up. Most of the racks had been removed or pushed to the side, leaving a large, clear space in the centre of the room. A couple of spot lamps now provided illumination, chasing away the worst of the gloom, and as I crossed the floorwards the rickety staircase I was surprised to see it had been given a fresh coat of new paint. Was this another case of post-Blip mania? I didn't think so; the warehouse was clean, but not obsessively so. If anything, it felt like someone was making an effort to make the place more homey, which was a bit worrying in and of itself. Was Thera settling in? If he was, why here? Something told me I wouldn't like the answer.
I reached the top of the stairs and paused once again. Where there was previously a flimsy looking piece of MDF, there was now a very solid looking oak affair. A simple metal sign had been screwed to the front, that read 'Therapist' in large black letters, and beneath that was tacked a piece of paper that read:
'Please knock before opening. This means you, Barton.'
I smiled, ever-so-slightly, and rapped hard on the door. The sound echoed across the vast, silent space like a gunshot, and I felt my insides clench as I waited for a response.
"Come in!" came Thera's voice, after a brief pause. I took a long, deep breath, fixed a smile on my face, and turned the handle. This was it, then. Time to go to work.
"Um, hi? It's…just me," I said, and hoped I sounded suitably contrite. "Clint's running late and wow—"
Whatever Thera'd done to the warehouse, it paled in comparison to his office. The whitewashed walls had been replaced with dark wood panelling, and a thick, luxurious carpet covered every inch of the floor. A comfortable-looking leather sofa dominated the room, and was set at a slight angle near an imposing, high-backed chair. Against one wall was a large, steel filing cabinet, while a low sideboard ran along the other. Its surface was largely clear of clutter, with the only items of interest being a chess set, a framed photo, and a silvery statuette that gleamed in the light. There was something vaguely familiar about that little figure, but as I stepped forward to get a better look the thick carpet gave way beneath my boots, and I fell hard on the back of the leather sofa.
"Goodness — are you okay?" Thera exclaimed, coming to his feet. He was dressed in the same drab, grey tones as he had been last week, but at some point he'd replaced the horrible yellow beanie with a bright pink one that, it had to be said, was hardly an improvement.
"Yeah; I'm fine!" I gasped, as I pushed myself off the sofa.
"Are you sure?" He said, and extended his hand to help. "That looked pretty nasty—"
"I'm fine. Really," I waved him aside and came around to sit on the sofa. "Just give me a sec to catch my breath."
"Sure, okay," Thera said, and returned to his decidedly impressive chair. In some ways, I thought it kind of looked like a throne. "So, I see you've been…busy this week."
I frowned. "I'm sorry?"
"That's a pretty impressive shiner, Laura," he said, and his gaze turned hard. "Is there something you want to tell me?"
"It wasn't Clint, if that's what you're thinking." I said quickly.
"I wasn't, but I am curious. What happened?"
"It's kind of embarrassing, actually. I…" I hesitated. "I got in a fight at my son's school."
His expression remained unchanged. "I see. From that rag wrapped around your hand, I'm guessing the other guy didn't exactly get away unscathed."
"Guys," I muttered, and shrank down in my seat.
"Guys? Really?" Thera blinked. "Sounds like I missed out on quite the spectacle."
"A 'spectacle'? I completely lost control!" I said, and waved my hands in the air. "I punched a woman in the face, I started a fight in front of Nate, and Coop says I'm trending on the goddamn Internet! What kind of example am I setting for my kids?"
"I'll agree, it's not…great," Thera settled back in his seat. "Why don't you tell me exactly what happened?"
"Why?" I said, a little petulantly. "There's no excuse for what I did."
"No, there isn't. But there might be an explanation. If you know why you did it, maybe you can prevent it from happening again in the future. That is what you want, right?"
"Of course it is!" I said. "Okay. I guess it started when Lila came home from school…"
Thera listened carefully as I provided a literal blow-by-blow account of my encounter with Liv at the school gates. He didn't speak or take notes, but I got the distinct feeling that every word I said was being carefully recorded somewhere behind that calm, unblinking gaze. It was unsettling, to say the least, and by the time I finished I was feeling more than a little rattled.
"...and then the principal gave us both a real telling off," I said, and shivered at the memory. "I don't know how she did it, but it was like I was six years old all over again. 'Yes, Mrs. Withington', 'No, Mrs. Withington.'. I just wanted to curl up and die."
"Yeah, been there," Thera said, and then his expression became distinctly appraising. "So tell me, Laura…why do you think you lost control? You don't strike me as a particularly hot-blooded individual."
"I'm not!" I said forcefully. "Or…I didn't think I was. Maybe I was wrong."
He smiled. "Everyone has their limit. Why do you think you reached yours?"
"I told you; Liv called Val a 'ghost'!"
"That's what happened. I asked you why."
"I guess…"I bit my lip. "I felt like I'd failed Lila. I forgot to warn her that Maisie hadn't Blipped, and then I wasn't there for her when she needed me. I mean, what kind of mom can't protect her children?"
Thera raised his eyebrows, but remained silent.
"So…maybe part of me thought that standing up for Val would prove that I wasn't a complete failure?" I ventured, and sighed. "And you know how that played out."
"I do," he said. "But you know what? I'm not entirely surprised that something like this happened."
"You're not?"
"No. When I saw you last, you were like a tightly wound spring. Everything about you just thrummed with nervous energy."
"Clint thinks I was having an existential crisis."
"I don't know about 'existential', but a crisis? Sure; you were a pressure cooker ready to blow," he said. "And personally, I still think it comes back to what I was saying last week."
"Last week?" I said, and then a neuron flickered to life. "Wait, you mean about me being traumatised? I told you—"
"I know what you told me, but listen; anger, volatility, that feeling you're a failure…they're all classic signs of trauma. I'm pretty sure Clint said you were hiding away from the rest of the family, too. Is that right?"
I thought of my compulsively scrubbed barn, and smiled wanly. "I…might have done something like that."
"And you said something very interesting just now," Thera went on. "You said that you failed to protect your children. Not just Lila, your children. Do you see where I'm going with this?"
I could, but… "Now you're just reaching!"
"Yeah? I don't think so. You pulled out all the stops to keep your children safe, but between one moment and the next you all got murdered by an alien with a glove fixation—"
"We weren't murdered!" I snapped suddenly. "We were Blipped!"
"And what does being 'Blipped' mean to you, Laura?" Thera asked, not unkindly. "What do you think actually happened?"
"I don't know!" I cast about wildly. "Maybe we were transported to another dimension! Or put in stasis! Or…or—" I snapped my fingers. "—what looked like us being disintegrated was actually Bruce pulling us five years into the future, so we weren't killed—"
Thera ran a hand across his hat. "You realise you're kind of proving my point, right?"
"Maybe, but I don't think anyone knows what really happened!"
"They kind of do, I'm afraid," he said quietly. "You've…been avoiding that as well, haven't you."
"I—" I stopped, and the sudden anger drained away. "Yeah. I have."
"That's okay. Why don't we take a break?" Thera said, and gave my hand an annoyed look. "Besides, I need to deal with that bandage. It's almost painful to look at."
"Clint'll be happy to hear that," I said tartly. "He's the one who put it on."
"Then he's out of practice," Thera retorted. "Incidentally, do you have any idea where he is? You said he was running late—"
"Sorry," I said. "He said he'd text me when he's here."
He rolled his eyes, "Well, it's nice to know he's taking this seriously. Make yourself comfortable, Laura. I'll be back in a tick."
Thera left, muttering something uncomplimentary under his breath as he did so. The door clicked shut behind him, and then there were the distant, muffled sounds of feet clumping down the steps.
"This is it! This is our chance!" My inner voice crowed. "Who knew that punching Liv in the face would provide such an opening? Quick — before he comes back!"
In a flash I was on my feet and scanning the room. It wasn't like there were many places to store things in here, so if there was anything incriminating it would probably be quite easy to find. The most obvious place to start was the large steel cabinet, and I was somewhat surprised to discover he'd left it unlocked. With a rush of excitement I pulled open each drawer in turn, but was disappointed to find nothing more than stacks of unused paper and a collection of freshly-sharpened pencils, organised carefully by grade. Was this the sniper's stationery cabinet? Probably, but there certainly wasn't any evidence of nefarious activities.
"Don't you think you're being a little optimistic?" asked my little inner voice. "Even if they are up to something, do you really think they'd leave their plans lying around where any idiot could find them?"
"Of course not, but I'm not just any idiot," I retorted. With some care, I put everything back in its proper place and slowly closed the drawers. The last thing I wanted was some errant piece of paper alerting them to my investigations. "And they're definitely up to something. Something big."
"Are you saying that because you believe it, or because you want it to be true?"
I ignored that, and crossed the room to inspect the sideboard. While it was long, most of it was taken up by a glass-fronted drinks cabinet, with just enough room for a couple of slender drawers. A cursory glance at the cabinet revealed it to be empty, so I hurriedly opened the compartments and leafed through the papers within. I had to move fast; Thera might come back at any moment, and if he found me going through his things then this whole operation would've been for naught.
"'Operation'? You're really getting into this, aren't—"
My hand bumped against a hard object, hidden in amongst the papers. Gently, I worked whatever it was free until I came away with a black, ring bound book that had the word 'P.H.O.E.N.I.X' written on the front in an elaborate, flowery script.
"Okay, so…that's a little creepy."
"Agreed," I said, and flipped open the book. Inside was page after page of untidy scrawl in what looked vaguely like the Greek alphabet, and I found myself growing frustrated as I flicked through the pages. What was I meant to do with this? It could be evidence of something dreadful, but it could just as easily be his first novel. How was I meant to know? With an irritated sigh, I turned the page again and found a series of carefully shaded, hand-drawn diagrams. My stomach lurched.
"Oh, no."
Down both sides of the page, three each side, were outlines of North America, with arrows pointing down into South America and overseas. On each one, there was a small red dot sited carefully on Missouri, and with each successive image a progressively larger area was shaded red. By the third image, the arrow leading down to South America was also shaded red, and by the sixth, the entire landmass and associated arrows were fully coloured in. Along the bottom there was a short passage, far tidier than the scrawl that had come before. Surprisingly, this one written in plain English, and read:
'Using a standard SIR compartmental model (considered suitable for this form of 'viral' transmission) it is estimated that full coverage of North America will be completed in approximately six months. This will also result in substantial penetration of the adjacent landmass and overseas regions. Vital to select correct 'Patient Zero' to maximise original spread.'
"He's planning a viral attack?" I stared in horror at the page. "We have to tell Fury! This-"
"Stop ruminating and get a photo, Laura! Before he comes back!"
"Oh, right," I whipped out my phone and quickly took a picture. Having established that there was nothing else of interest in the book — or at least, nothing else that I could read, I carefully eased it back into the drawer. As I slid it shut, the door behind me clicked open, and Thera re-entered, carrying a large gym bag on his shoulder.
"Sorry about that," Thera said. "I had to dig this bag out of another bag and...hey, are you okay down there?"
"Me? Oh, yes! I was just…admiring this picture!" I said, and snatched up the photo from the cabinet. It showed a sweeping vista of a Mediterranean seaside town, with white buildings and orange rooftops gleaming in the bright summer sun. Off in the distance there were sparkling sapphire waves, and small boats with brightly coloured sails bobbed gently in the breeze. "It's beautiful. Is this your home?"
"It's a stock photo. It came with the frame," Thera said, with just a hint of amusement. "But to be fair, it does remind me of home. That's why I picked it."
I gave it one last look, and set it carefully back on the sideboard. "Well, if your home looked anything like that then it must've been hard to come to some dump warehouse in Missouri. I almost feel like we should be apologising."
"Apology accepted," he said. "But it's not so bad, and the contract was pretty compelling."
"You're under contract?" I mentally punched a fist in the air. That had to be useful information, right? "How much are they paying you?"
He grinned. "Not enough, as usual. But it's not really about the money, it's more about the…perks."
"The perks?"
"Yeah, the perks," he said, and his tone clearly indicated that was the end of that line of enquiry. "Now c'mon, sit down. I've got a couple of things for you."
I joined him on the sofa, taking care to sit at a respectable distance, and while he rummaged around in his bag my gaze fell back on the sideboard. The statuette caught my eye, and once again I couldn't quite shake the feeling there was something vaguely familiar about it…
"Who's she?" I asked, as much to break the silence as anything else.
Thera looked up. "The figurine? Oh, she's meant to be a goddess of healing and protection. My Goddess, actually."
"'Meant' to be?"
"Yes, well…it's actually an action figure I dipped in white paint."
"That's where I've seen it before! Lila has exactly the same one!" I exclaimed, and then gave him a curious look. "Why'd you do that?"
"It's like a lucky charm," he said, and added quickly. "Look, I didn't have a whole lot of time to grab my things, and nobody around here's even heard of her. I had to do the best I could! Anyway—" he handed me a small packet. "This is an eyepatch — for that beautiful black eye of yours. Just put it on tonight, and by tomorrow the bruising should be gone."
I turned the packet over and over. It looked entirely unremarkable. "Really? Just like that?"
"Just like that. It's magic, I swear," he said. "But if you don't believe in magic, then it's also packed full of things like cucumber essence and aloe vera. Now, as for your hand—" he carefully untied Clint's dressing and got a firm grip on both ends. "This might hurt slightly when I take it off, but you'll be fine. Okay? One, two—"
I bit down hard as Thera ripped off the bandage, revealing cracked skin and a small amount of fresh blood. He gave the injury a despairing look, shook his head, and unfurled a new dressing with a dramatic flick of his wrist. It seemed to dance in the air, glowing beneath the fluorescent lamps, and before I really knew what was happening he was tying off the ends across the back of my hand.
"That should hold," he said, with some satisfaction. "Is it okay? Not too tight, is it?"
"No, it's…great," I said. I had to admit, I was actually impressed. "Where did you learn to do this? I thought you were a therapist."
"Oh, that's a recent development. My actual background is in emergency medicine."
"You're a doctor? Really?"
"What, don't I look the part?"
"Not really, no," I said bluntly. "Were you any good?"
"Let's just pray that you don't have to find out, shall we?" He said. His voice held just a note of irritation. "It's probably best that way."
An awkward silence descended on the room, which was mercifully broken by the sound of my phone buzzing in my pocket.
"Oh, that's probably Clint!" I said, with some relief. "I'm sure he'll be here soon."
"Good. About time."
"Um, before he gets here… can I ask you something?"
"You can ask me anything you want," he said evenly. "Whether or not I answer is a different matter."
"Okay…" I paused, and then plunged onwards. "If you thought you had…footage of yourself during the Snap, would you watch it?"
Thera leaned back, and gave me a long, searching look. "This isn't a hypothetical question, is it."
"...no."
"Didn't think so," he stared off into space. "You know, I don't think anyone's asked me anything like that before. I'm not quite sure what to say."
"That feels like a first."
"Maybe," His lips quirked. "Let me ask you something, then; what are you hoping to learn by watching it?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "I just feel like I need to."
"Right. Well, you obviously don't need my permission, and I think we both know how this is going to play out," he said. "Have you talked about it with Clint?"
"I haven't, no," I said, and his eyes narrowed. "Because if I do, he'll want to be there when I watch it!"
"To support you?"
"Yes, but I can't force him to go through that again! Christ, I've hurt him enough as it is!"
"Shouldn't he have the right to decide that?" Thera said, and once again his eyebrows went up. "I seem to recall having a very similar conversation with Clint last week. Do you remember?"
"I…yeah," I said. "Difficult conversations, right?"
"Right. Don't face this alone, Laura, for your sake and his," he said. "And when you do watch it, just try to remember this: the worst is over. You're here, you're alive, and you're all together. No matter what you see, nothing can change that."
A heavy knock reverberated through the room, and then the door swung open. Clint stepped in, moving carefully to avoid catching the large black bag on the doorframe. He stopped in surprise, just as I had before him, and surveyed his surroundings with a wary eye.
"You've…redecorated," he said, eventually.
"And you're late," Thera said severely. "You do understand the concept of 'couples' therapy, right? The clue's in the name."
Clint's expression tightened, "Sorry, but I was running an errand."
"Which had to be done right this second?"
"Oh, you're gonna like this one," Clint said, and carefully set the bag down on the floor behind the sofa. There was the sound of a zip, a rustle of fabric, and when he stood back up he was holding—
"A bow?" Thera suddenly looked interested.
—Clint's supposed 'cover story'. It was one of his old bows, from way back when, but its long, slender frame still possessed a strangely ethereal beauty. The limbs were carved from a rich, dark wood, and along its length was etched an intricate pattern; a flowing, swirling depiction of birds soaring through the skies. They had been smoothed with time, worn down by use, but as Clint turned it over in his hands they almost seemed to glow in the light. Thera's eyes went wide.
"Goddess," he murmured. "Okay, you've got my attention. What's the deal with this?"
"It's my first competition bow," Clint said. "My trainer gave it to me when I was thirteen. Kind of like a…coming of age present, if you get what I mean."
"Mmm-hmm," Thera said, apparently still transfixed by the carvings.
"So I was gonna give it to Lila for her thirteenth, too. 'Never got the chance," Clint said thickly. "But what you said got me thinking, so I dug it out of the loft, cleaned it up…"
Now that was an understatement. Clint hadn't just 'cleaned it up'; over the past week, he'd spent every spare moment oiling, polishing, and picking out flecks of dust until it looked as good as new, if not better. He'd poured his heart and soul into this bow, which is why I'd objected so strongly to him bringing it along. What he held now was nothing less than a blinding declaration of fatherly love, and using it to throw Thera off his game felt cheap and cynical, as if we were tainting his wonderful gift. Clint hadn't seen it like that; in fact, he'd been a little surprised that I had. After all, Thera had all but told him he needed to reconnect with his daughter, so that was what he was doing…
"...an' I'm going to ask her if she wants to try it later today," Clint said, shaking me out of my daydream. "Y'know, like old times."
"It's beautiful, Clint," Thera said, quite sincerely. "In fact, I know someone who would go utterly gaga over it. You don't see many weapons that're also works of art."
Clint's eyes lit up, "I know, right? I mean, most guns're just mass-produced hunks of junk. They've got no soul, 'cause they were stamped out by some goddamn machine in a goddamn factory. A bow like this, though? It's got quirks, it's got character, because the bowyer who made it put themselves into it. When you shoot, they're shootin' right there with you! You… just don't get that with regular firearms."
Thera looked genuinely taken aback, "You know, I once heard someone say something very similar. Not about bows, mind you, but…wow. No wonder they're your thing."
"That being said…" Clint paused, and a nasty little glint came to his eye. "There's one gun I've had my eye on this past week. Kinda sleek, matte black…good quality, from the looks of it. Might be useful for those times a bow just ain't appropriate."
Thera's gaze cooled, just a touch. "Is that so? If it's as valuable as you say, you might have trouble getting its owner to part with it."
"Oh, I reckon I can convince 'em," Clint smiled, but there was no humour in it. "I can be very convincing, if I need to be."
The air between the two men hummed with tension, and I felt the hairs on my arms stand up on end as they stared one another down. A moment later, though, Thera broke out in a big smile and sat down in his seat.
"Well, aren't you all wired up? I'm sure she'll just love your sales pitch," he said brightly. "But let's worry about that later, shall we? Come and sit down; we've got to make up for lost time."
Clint did so, and gave me a roguish wink in the process. I smiled in response, and settled against him as he sat down next to me.
"Told you I was right about the bow," Clint murmured, and I gently rapped him on the leg.
"Hush, you," I murmured back. "But fine, you were right…"
There was a gentle cough, and I looked up to see Thera staring at both of us. He was still smiling, and now amusement danced openly in his eyes. "You know, guys, I have to say that I'm loving this new body language. It's a massive improvement over last week."
"You reckon?" Clint said.
"Oh yeah. I can actually believe you're a couple," Thera said. "So what's happened?"
"Well…I guess we've had some of those 'difficult conversations'," Clint said, and gave me an arch look. "Over coffee."
"That wasn't coffee, dear," I bit out. "And thanks to you, Lila thinks I'm going to get a robot arm!"
"Lila's wanted a robot arm as long as Coop's wanted tattoos. Some things never change," Clint said, and then visibly steeled himself as he turned back to Thera. "You wanted to talk about Vormir, right? Fine by me; I've got some questions of my own."
"Actually, no. Vormir's old news," Thera said, and Clint frowned. "I've actually been thinking about something you said last week."
"Oh, yeah?"
"You said you couldn't 'find the words' to talk about the Snap. I'm wondering; have you found them yet?"
"Well—" Clint looked briefly at me, and shook his head. "No."
"I figured as much. Well, that's why we're here, so Clint…" Thera took a deep breath. "...I'd like you to tell us what happened that day. Tell us about the Snap."
Clint gasped and went rigid. His hand found mine, gripped it tight enough to hurt, and his distant, haunted gaze filled me with alarm. What was Thera thinking? First Vormir, and now this? Was he trying to hurt Clint by drilling deep into his most painful memories? Was that his plan?
"No!" I snapped, and raw, red rage poured in from all sides. How dare he! How dare he demand Clint relive the day when his family — when we were all— "You can't be serious!"
"As a heart attack, Laura," Thera said, quite bluntly. "Believe me, I've been losing sleep over this all last week, but this is the bridge we need to cross — or rather, you need to cross. Together."
"That doesn't mean we have to do it now!"
"Until we do, everything else is just dancing around the point," Thera said. "You've done some great stuff this week; important stuff, too, but this is what really matters."
"I don't care! I'm not going to let you torture him like this!"
That hit the mark. Thera recoiled as if struck, and then his gaze was boring into me, his eyes as hard and sharp as a pair of agates. When he spoke, the air crystallised around every clipped syllable. "If I were you, Laura Barton, I would pick my next words with the utmost care."
"Yeah?" I said defiantly. If Clint needed me, I wasn't backing down. "How about you tell me why you're doing this?"
"Why? This is my job, Laura, and I take it very seriously," he said. "Would you rather I just phone it in?"
"Of course not, but…this isn't fair!"
His gaze warmed slightly. "Fair? None of this is fair, Laura. 'Fair' went out the window the instant Thanos snapped his fingers. Right now, I'm only interested in what's right, and 'right' comes with a price tag. It might be difficult, or painful, but ultimately it's the only way forward. We have to talk about—"
"—the Snap," Clint said hoarsely.
"Exactly," Thera's gaze flicked over to my husband. "So I'm sorry, but I'll have to ask again. What was it like, Clint?"
"What do you think it was like?"
"Well, I was kind of hoping you would tell us," Thera said, apparently entirely unperturbed by Clint's outburst. "Unfortunately, my telepathy's on the fritz."
"Probably a good thing, that," Clint said darkly. "You know what? Let's get this over with. Where do you want me to start?"
"Well, last time you said you turned around and everyone was 'gone'...so why don't we start there?" Thera said, and his gaze swept slowly between myself and Clint. "What happened next?"
"Hey guys! Enough practice; soup's on!"
Those were the last words Clint remembered. He'd looked around at my call, and as he'd turned back to Lila there'd been a loud crack in the distance, like a gunshot or a—
Snap
—and she was gone.
"Half a second. That's all it took," Clint said softly. "I looked away for half a second, and when I looked back she'd vanished. There was some dust, swirlin' through the air, but…"
He'd known instantly that something was wrong — no, not just something; everything. One moment, the air had rung with Nate's happy laughter and the clatter of cutlery, and the next…silence. Horrible, oppressive silence. The field was deserted, our lunch untouched, and the only sounds were the echoes of his panicked cries. He raced across the grounds, shouting himself hoarse as he called out again and again as pure, unutterable dread settled deep into his bones.
"So you didn't think that they were all hiding, or something?" Thera asked. "Like some kind of practical joke?"
"Nah; Laura's not like that, an' even if she was there's no way Lila would've been able to keep it under wraps." Clint smiled, and I reached across to gently squeeze his hand. "Honestly, I don't know what I was thinking; I just ran. Next thing I knew, I was in our bedroom."
"Why?" I asked.
"I dunno. I guess my last hope was that everyone'd gone inside for some reason, and that's when my phone rang," his voice faltered, and I squeezed his hand again. "At first, I thought it was Laura wondering where I'd gotten to, but…no."
"It was Nat, wasn't it."
"Yeah, an' the instant I heard her voice, I knew something terrible had happened," Clint looked over at Thera. "You gotta understand, Nat isn't the kind of person who gets hysterical, but this was as close as I'd ever heard her. The instant I answered the phone she started asking after Laura and the kids, and when I said I couldn't find them…she started crying. That's when it all came crashing in, and I just…snapped."
"I'm not surprised," Thera said, calmly. "I think anyone would, under the circumstances."
"I tore up our room; smashed Laura's vanity, hurled our wedding picture across the room…" he looked at me sheepishly. "You probably saw the aftermath, didn't you."
"Let's just say you left me quite a mess to clean up," I said tartly, but rubbed my thumb across the back of his fingers. "Thera's right, though; I would've done the same. If I'd lost everything like that…"
"But then Nat shouted something that got my attention. 'We're going to bring them back, I promise!'." Clint said. "When I asked how…well, that's when it all came out. Everything about Thanos and the Infinity Stones, the Snap, an' all this other stuff that I'd missed 'cause I was under house arrest. They'd been fighting to save the goddamn universe, and I hadn't been invited!"
"That must've been…aggravating." Thera observed.
"'Aggravating'? I should've been there! I could've done something!" Clint said loudly. "They kept me out of the loop to keep me safe, and what happened? My family—"
He fell silent, choking on his words. I moved closer, and slipped a comforting arm across his trembling shoulders. "It's okay, hon. The worst is over. We're here, aren't we? We're alive. It's all okay…"
Thera threw me a wry glance, and turned back to Clint. "So what did you do?"
He looked up, his expression determined. "What I should've done all along."
From that moment, all Clint could think about was bringing us back, and that meant getting to the Avengers Compound. Without so much as a backward glance, he went straight to the Laura Cave, cut off his electronic tag, and roared out of there in my truck. His destination was the Springfield-Branson airport; once there, he'd commandeer or steal a plane and fly it all the way to the Avengers Compound. That had been the plan, at least, but when he reached the Interstate, he realised just how far-reaching the Snap had been.
"It was a mess. Just one big pileup," he said. "Burning cars, destroyed trucks…total carnage, as far as the eye could see. It was simply unbelievable."
"So how'd you get through?"
"I didn't. I couldn't," he said. "I mean, maybe I could've found another way around, but there were people trapped, people hurt…I couldn't leave them there."
"Even if it cost you your family?" Thera said, and inclined his head. "After all, nobody would've known."
Clint's eyes narrowed. "I would've known. Even if I'd managed to get my family back, how could I look 'em in the eye, knowing I let some poor woman burn to death in her car?"
Thera nodded. "Good answer, Clint, and thank you."
Clint looked surprised. "For what?"
"For stepping in. A lot of people wouldn't."
It was clear that Springfield-Branson was out of reach, at least for now, and so Clint had to find a new purpose. He spent the day hauling people from their cars, administering first aid, and doing his very best to help the outmatched, beleaguered emergency services. He worked like a demon, moving from crisis to crisis, deliberately exhausting himself to keep his own thoughts from overwhelming him. It almost worked, too; by the time he was dragged off to an emergency shelter he was too tired to really remember what had happened. Even so, he felt empty, numb, as if someone had reached inside and hollowed him out, and it was a long, long time before he finally passed out.
"I don't know how I fell asleep. I just don't," he said, and I saw tears standing in his eyes. "That morning, I felt like the luckiest guy in the world. I had an amazing wife and these three beautiful kids, and then…" he took a long, shuddering breath, and I held him tight until the shaking passed. "I was alone. You can't imagine what that was like."
"You're right. I can't," Thera said. His voice was tight, and I was amazed to see he was blinking back tears of his own. "Clint, we can tap out at any point you want. You've said more than enough for one session—"
Clint shook his head. "No. I can't stop now."
"But—"
"No! You wanted to hear this? You're hearin' this."
For Clint, the days that followed were nothing short of hellish. Each morning, he'd wake to the painful realisation that we were gone, and there was nothing he could do but help with injured and shell-shocked survivors. While he worked, he waited for a sign from Nat, any sign at all, and watched as the Army cleared away the wreckage from the roads. Three achingly long weeks passed, and just as he was about to head for the airport he received a text from an anonymous number. It was short, just two words, but it shattered Clint's entire world.
"All it said was 'I'm sorry'," Clint said. "A day later, the Avengers announced that Thanos had destroyed the Stones to prevent anyone reversin' the Snap. Thor'd cut his head off, but I didn't care. It was over; you were gone forever."
"Oh, Clint," I said. "That must have been—"
"It destroyed me. It was like losing you all over again," he said, and slammed a fist into the sofa. "Goddamnit! Nat promised me she was going to bring you back! She promised me! The one time she failed, and it cost me everything! I couldn't take it; I gave up on the Avengers, tossed my phone, and went dark. As far as I was concerned, I was done!"
Days became weeks, weeks became months, and slowly, months turned into years. While the rest of the world grieved and tried to move on, Clint drifted from place to place, alone and aimless. He had no goals, no desires; without us, what was the point?
"I didn't have anyone left to worry about, so I was free to go wherever I wanted. Pretty sick kind of freedom, when you think about it," he said bitterly. "I must've crossed the world twice over. Saw it all; didn't care. I had nobody to see it with."
"How about Nat?" I asked. My chest felt cold and tight, as if something had wrapped around it and squeezed. "Or Rogers? He was still around, right? Stark? Rhodes?"
"Didn't talk to them. Didn't want to. Couldn't face them."
"But…" I found myself struggling for breath. There had to have been someone, right? A friend? An accomplice? Hell, I might even have accepted a lover, if it'd meant that Clint hadn't been alone. "Why not?"
"It's not always that easy, Laura," Thera said, and the look he gave me said he knew exactly what I was thinking. "Did you hold a funeral, Clint? Or at least a memorial?"
"I didn't. I couldn't," Clint looked at me helplessly, and I felt my heart break a little more inside. "I felt like if I did that…that's the point you would've been truly gone. I couldn't face that, or the idea of startin' over without Laura or the kids…"
"I know," Thera said gently. "It's okay. I understand."
As the years turned, Clint's emptiness gave way to anger. Anger at Thanos, for taking everything he'd ever loved. Anger at the Avengers, for casting him aside and failing to protect his family. Anger at those who'd survived unjustly —crime lords, street thugs, the dregs of society— when his loved ones had perished. The worst, though…
"I was angry at you, hon. You and the kids," he said sadly. "There was this whole period when I hated you for abandoning me. I figured if I'd never met you, or if we'd never had kids, then you couldn't have been taken away from me."
"That's a very common reaction, Clint," Thera said. His tone was quiet, but reassuring. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."
"Yeah? Well, I was," Clint said brusquely. "An' the guilt and the anger just got worse and worse. It just went around an' around, building up until I was nothin' but rage and pain, looking for release."
"We'll come back to that 'release' another time. I'd actually like to skip ahead a bit," Thera said. "Agent Romanov found you in Japan, you reassembled the Stones…so tell me, Clint; how did you know that the Snap had been successfully reversed?"
"We didn't, at least not at first; I don't know what we were expecting to see. But then, I heard my phone buzzin', and when I looked down…it was Laura," Clint said, and his wondering smile was like the sun coming up. "It was you, hon. Really you!"
"You realise I was crapping myself at the time, right?" I raised an eyebrow, but found myself smiling back anyway. "You were gone, the kids were wigging out, and the house was a wreck! I didn't know what was going on!"
Clint winced. "Sorry."
"It's not your fault, love," I said, and pulled him in for a tight hug. "What was it like, though? Those ops where you were dark for weeks was bad enough, but years…?"
"It was…" Suddenly, tears were rolling down his face, and his voice cracked with emotion. "Christ, I can't explain it! It was like I'd come back to life as well. It was like I was finally able to stop just existing and start living again! I just wish that Nat could've been there to see it…"
"I…" Words failed me. Instead, I reached out, took his face in both hands, and kissed him tenderly on the forehead. "She kept her promise, hon. Wherever she is, I think she knows that."
"I'm sure she does," Thera said softly, and then his smile turned distinctly wry. "It's funny, isn't it? All these gods and supermen and people tooling around in powered armour, and the greatest hero in the universe turned out to be a book-balancing assassin. All she needed was a little push."
"Yeah," Clint nodded, and wiped at his eyes. "Wait, what?"
"Never mind," Thera shook his head. "Well done, Clint. I mean it; that…was difficult to hear. It must have been even harder to say. How do you feel?"
"I feel like crap," Clint admitted. "But…I'm glad I got that off my chest. I suppose one day I'll have to tell the kids, right?"
"One day, maybe. When you're ready," Thera said. "I just wanted to say that that was an amazing effort. What do you think, Laura?"
"I…" I looked tearfully at Clint, and then back at Thera. "I don't know what to say. I really don't!"
"Which is fine. Don't overthink it, Laura," Thera nodded. "We have a saying back home; 'Don't be perfect, be present.'. Why not try just being?"
"But…that's—" I cast around helplessly. "There has to be something else, right?"
"Don't overthink it. Really," Thera said. "You're already doing more than enough just by being, so don't work yourself into a coma trying to beperfect, okay?"
"But—" I stopped as an eyebrow jumped. "Okay."
"Great!" Thera stood up and stretched his arms above his head. "You know what? I think we've covered more than enough this time, and I bet you guys have a tonne to process. So, next week…"
"Vormir?" Clint said pointedly. "We were gonna do that this week."
"No. I think next week we're going to talk about anger. Anger, grief, and—" his gaze met Clint's once again, "—the subsequent fallout. Please prepare yourselves accordingly."