Chapter Six: Clear and Prescient Danger

For the second time in as many weeks we left in silence, but as we crossed the warehouse floor I allowed myself a small, self-satisfied smile. So, we had a lot to process, did we? That so-called 'therapist' had no idea just how right he was, and when I'd worked out exactly what we'd found? Oh, I was going to take great pleasure in bringing the hammer down. I might not be an Avenger, but where my family was concerned I could be a goddamn force of nature. Coop's eighth-grade English teacher could attest to that.

I glanced at Clint, and my smile faded a little. Of course, before we could process what we'd found, we'd have to process what was said. He looked drained, emotionally and physically, and his hand trembled in my grip as I led him gently across the warehouse floor.

"That was very brave of you," I said. "I can't imagine how tough it must've been to share that with…him."

"I didn't do it for him. I did it for you," he said gruffly. "An' as much as I hate to say it, he's kinda right. You deserve to know what happened."

"Yeah, but not like this!"

"Then how?" He asked, and smiled as I floundered for an answer. "Look, hon; I know you're trying to protect me, but if we don't throw him some fresh meat then he's gonna get bored and drop the act. The longer we keep him hooked, the longer we've got to work out what he's up to."

"I…well, okay. I get it. I don't like it, but I get it," I said, with a defeated sigh. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I was gonna ask you the same thing. How're you feeling?"

"Well, I—" I stopped. What was I feeling? Everything, it seemed, all at once. I was angry, of course, for everything Clint had endured, but at the same time there was sadness and pity and above all a sense of helplessness, all swirling together in a kind of grey, despondent soup. "I…don't know. I guess it really is a lot to process."

Clint squeezed my hand. "Take your time, hon. It's not a race."

I returned the squeeze with a rather false smile, but those feelings dogged my steps as we walked back to the car.. The worst bit, I decided, was the feeling of powerlessness. There had to be something I could do, right? Maybe I couldn't just wave away the past five years, but there had to be some way to dull the pain, or…something! Anything!

"Don't overthink it, Laura," I muttered to myself, echoing Thera's words. "Don't be perfect, be present."

Clint gave me a strange look as we clambered into the car, but said nothing. Acting on a whim, I locked the doors and all but pounced on Clint, wrapping him in a tight embrace as I did so.

"What the—" he started.

"Sssh," I said soothingly. "Let's just 'be' for a moment, shall we? I haven't been for five years, so I figure I've got a lot of catching up to do."

Clint's snort sounded suspiciously like wry amusement, but I felt him relax in my arms nonetheless. The moment stretched onwards, warm and comforting— and came to a screeching halt when a loud, insistent chime tore through the car.

"Christ!" I jumped backwards with a shriek. "What the hell was that?"

"That'd be the StarkThing," Clint said, and gave me an apologetic look. "Sorry; I turned it up this morning and forgot to turn it down."

"So someone's on the line? It picked up the tap?" I said, eagerly. "It actually worked?"

"'Course it worked! What, did you think it wouldn't?"

"Well, I— you know what? There's no time for that! Put it on!"

Clint grinned, and reached around the back of his chair to press something on the StarkThing. There was a brief hiss, a hum, and then—

"Hey, Sparky!" a woman's voice came through the StarkThing, clear and strong. Her accent was vaguely British, but with a lilt that I couldn't identify. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

I looked at Clint and mouthed the word 'Sparky'?'. He shrugged in response and motioned me to keep listening.

"Oh, nothing really," Thera said. In contrast to just a few minutes ago, he sounded tired, even despondent. "I just wanted to hear your voice."

"Oh dear," the woman said sympathetically. "That bad, was it?"

"Worse."

"I won't ask. I know you can't tell me," she said. "But you sound like you need a hug. Do you need a hug?"

"I think I need you to tell me everyone back home's okay. I mean, we knew the Snap was bad, but to hear Clint talk about it?" I heard Thera take a deep breath. "Goddess! It's…"

"Yeah, I know," the woman said. "But I'm sure everyone's fine, Snapped or not. C'mon; you know what they're like!"

"I know exactly what they're like; that's what worries me!" Thera said sharply. "They can't even tie their shoes without garroting themselves! Can you imagine what they've gotten up to in five sodding years? We'll be lucky if there's even a smoking crater!"

"Breathe, Sparky. Breathe," she said gently. "We want clear blue skies, remember? Not thunderstorms. Besides, you're not being fair to them."

"Yeah, you're right. Sorry," Thera said. "So…where're you now?"

"'Usual place."

"You're going to bake up there, you realise."

"I'll be fine. What's a bit of sunstroke between friends?" she said airily. "And someone's got to keep Hawkeye's attention. After all, if we don't throw him a bone now and again he might get bored and call in someone competent. Y'know, like that guy with the wings? Or how about the one who gets really big and passes out? I bet he snores something fierce."

"Now who's not being fair?" Thera chuckled, as Clint glared at the radio. "I have high hopes for these two, y'know."

"What, the Little Avenger That Could and his stay-at-home, insular wife? What a duo."

"Be nice. We've underestimated people before and been burned for it, remember?" Thera said reprovingly. "Besides, those two're making real progress! Another couple of weeks and—"

"—'another couple of weeks'? We don't have another couple of weeks!" she said. "You…do remember why we're here, right?"

"Of course I do!"

"Really? 'Cause if you're not getting wrapped up in this whole 'therapist' thing, you're fussing over everyone at that damn 'Centre! You're not sleeping, you're barely eating—"

"—and why do you think that is?" Thera asked, in a quiet but firm voice. "If we fail—"

"Yes, but—" there was the sound of someone exhaling heavily. "—Goddess, why is it always us? I mean, we literally die and where do we get sent as our eternal reward? Some scrap of nowhere called Missouri for some godsforsaken 'contract'? I miss our home. I miss our friends!"

"I know. So do I."

"I even miss your sister, and that's something I thought I'd never say," she sighed again. "I know your heart's in the right place, Sparky. It always is…but you can't win this one. It's too big. Let's just do what we can, finish the job, and…go home to pick up the pieces. Assuming there's any left."

"Agreed. I just need a little bit longer," he said. "I can feel the potential! If we can just stoke it up a bit…"

"Are you sure? Really sure?"

"I'm sure. We've hit the motherlode on this one, I'm telling you!"

"...fine, okay. I trust you," the woman said. "But you're going to promise me that you'll sleep tonight, okay? There's…something else, too."

"That sounds ominous."

"For good reason. You know that guy I was talking to? He's not going to sell to us after all."

"What?" Thera gasped. "But you said—"

"I know what I said! Someone else got their talons into him."

"Really? Who?"

"They didn't say, but I got the feeling that they weren't nice people. Not like us," she said, with a grim little laugh. "If I had to guess, I'd say they made him an offer he couldn't refuse."

"Oh dear. Do we know anything about this guy? Who he is? Where he is?"

"C'mon, sweetie; if we knew those things I wouldn't have to buy it. I think he's desperate, and I'm pretty sure he's gotten in way over his head, but he's not a complete fool. If I can just find out how they're yanking his chain…"

"You think we've got time?"

"I don't think we've got a choice, Sparky," she said seriously. "If this gets out…well, it's a catalyst for all kinds of horror. Flayed bodies hanging from bridges? Reprisal attacks from the remaining Avengers? No; I'm not just going to stand by and let that happen. Not again."

"Of course not. Do what you have to do," Thera said. "Just try not to make too much of a mess. The dry cleaners are starting to ask questions."

"Who, me?" This time, her laugh was positively chilling. "Don't worry; I'll take care of it - and besides, if we play our cards right, we could kill two birds with one stone."

"That'd be nice. I'll be glad to see the back of this bloody contract, let me tell you," Thera said. "But…I think we should discuss the particulars face-to-face. I'm not entirely sure I trust this line."

"Me neither. After this I'm going to go check the perimeter again," the woman said. "Maybe rig up a couple of surprises, too, just in case some Johnny-on-the-spot thinks they're cleverer than they are."

"And I'll go make lunch. You up for a sandwich?"

"Do I get a choice?"

"Not really."

"Didn't think so," she said. "I love you, Sparky. See you soon."

"Love you too, Vi."

There was a click, and then the line went dead.

"Well," Clint said, in a grimly satisfied tone. "Wasn't that interesting?"

-LB-

It was interesting. It was also deeply, deeply confusing.

We sat in the idling car for a little while longer, until Clint decided it was safe to make a move. While we waited, I stared through the window at the warehouse, and tried to work out how everything we'd learned fit together. The trouble was…it didn't. Sure, the stuff about the 'Phoenix' virus was pretty damn incriminating, but how did that gel with the rest? The Thera I'd heard over the radio didn't sound like the kind of person who could commit an atrocity; he'd sounded subdued, anxious even, completely shorn of that air of chilly superiority. Had that just been an act? If so…why? What did they hope to gain by antagonising an Avenger? I had no idea, but judging from Clint's reaction, it was working.

"The 'Little Avenger That Could'?" he growled, and stamped his foot down angrily on the accelerator. The car surged forward with a whine of power, and I held on for dear life as we hurtled onto the thankfully-empty interstate. "You heard her, right? The—"

"Yes, I did! Now slow down!" I said, and added pointedly. "It's not like she was exactly complimentary about me, either!"

"I mean, sure—" Clint went on, apparently immune to my observations. "—I might not have a fancy suit, or magic powers, or be an actual, literal Norse god, but I can hit anything with anything! Can she do that?"

I shrugged. "Who knows? She certainly didn't lack confidence."

"Hah!" he barked. "Let's see just how confident she is after going a round with Loki, or Ultron, or even Thanos! I did just as much as the other Avengers, and I did itwithout being pumped full of super soldier serum!"

"Clint," I touched his arm soothingly. "You saved half the universe; you saved our children! Who cares what some random woman thinks?"

"Yeah…" he said, and subsided slightly. "I suppose you're right."

"Besides, the other Avengers were a goddamn mess!" I pointed out. "Stark was a neurotic attention seeker who endangered the planet almost as often as he saved it, Rogers had a stick rammed so far up his ass you could turn him on a spit, and Banner was always one bad day from becoming a national emergency! Even Nat was a walking pile of unresolved issues! You were the only one who could genuinely function outside of Fury's little initiative — I mean, how many of them had a long-term relationship, or even a family?"

"Stark had a kid with Potts, remember? Morgan," Clint said. "You met her at his funeral."

"Oh, yeah. Nice kid," I smiled. "I genuinely can't get my head around the idea of Stark being a dad. 'Can't believe I missed out."

"You're not the only one," Clint smiled too. "Look, if you think I'm more grounded than the rest of the Avengers, it's 'cause of you and the kids. Without you…"

"I know," I said soothingly. "But it's okay, okay?"

"No, it's not," he said, and when I looked over I could see the tension lining his eyes. "It's bad, Laura. What I did…"

"What did you do?" I took a deep breath. "Is this about Nat, Clint?"

"No," he shook his head, "No, it isn't."

"Okay, then what? Do you just want me to keep guessing until you spill the beans?" I said, and despite my best efforts I could feel the anger rushing through my veins. "Are you talking about that 'subsequent fallout' thing Thera mentioned at the end of the session? Is that it?"

"I…um, maybe?" Clint faltered. "I'm not sure."

"You're not sure? Damnit, Clint!" I slammed my hand down on my armrest. "We're supposed to tell each other everything! I know I was a jackass over Nat, but that doesn't mean I'm going to tolerate you and that damn therapist sharing knowing looks over my head while we're trying to reconnect as a couple!"

"I'm not sharing knowing looks with him!" Clint protested. "He just keeps dropping hints!"

"That's not the point!" I snapped. "The point is that you know, he knows, and I don't! Why am I the one being kept in the dark?"

The silence that followed was deep and stormy, just like it'd been in those awful weeks following Nat's funeral. As the car rumbled onwards down the highway, I closed my eyes and took several breaths until the anger drained away.

"I'm sorry, babe. I shouldn't have shouted," I said eventually, in far calmer tones. "It's just…well, I was always kinda jealous that Nat knew stuff you couldn't tell me, but Thera knows stuff you won't tell me. That's much worse."

Clint's expression darkened. "Don't be so sure; there's some things you're better off not knowin'."

"I can't believe that," I said, and patted him reassuringly on the thigh. "And no matter what happened, I promise it's not going to change the way I feel about you."

"You can't promise that."

"Oh, but I can," I said firmly. "Because I think I've got a pretty good idea what it is that you've talking about. I mean, you spent the Blip travelling the world? You were 'working' in Tokyo? C'mon, Clint; it doesn't take a genius to work out what you've been up to!"

He shifted in his seat. "Well…"

"But it's okay, hon," I went on, more gently now. "If you're not ready to tell me what happened, then I'll wait. All I ask is that…if I am going to hear about whatever 'this' is, I like to hear about it from you, not Thera."

Clint's expression became set. "Oh, I'm going to do better than tell you. I'm going to show you."

-LB-

The instant we got home, Clint and I hefted the StarkThing out of the boot and wheeled it over to the barn. He wasted no time in getting it plugged in and booted up, and I looked on anxiously as large, holographic images winked into existence all around us. I'd seen them all before; grainy, indistinct CCTV footage of a hooded figure wielding a long, silvery sword. Their features were hidden, and the quality was too poor to tell if they were even a man or a woman. Now that I thought about it, though, there was something strikingly familiar about that blade…

"That's you, isn't it," I stated bluntly.

Clint took a deep breath, and nodded, "Yeah, that's me."

"And is this what you meant by 'working'? Sneaking around in…" I squinted. "Motorcycle leathers? Some kind of costume?"

"Pretty much. From the timestamp, I reckon these would've been just after I got to Tokyo. About three months ago."

"So why were you in Tokyo?" I said. "Who were the bad guys?"

Wordlessly, Clint flicked his hand, and the images were replaced with a series of newspaper articles. They were all written in Japanese, but there was no need to translate the grisly images splashed across the front page. Lines of body bags, chalk outlines, bloodstains…and the interior of a building, peppered with gunfire and torn to shreds as if hit by a tornado.

"Christ, that's awful!" I murmured, and he winced. "No wonder Nat called you in!"

"Nat didn't call me in, hon."

"But I thought—never mind," I waved it to one side. "So…Rogers, then? Or Fury?"

"No, hon, nobody called for me. The truth is…" he visibly steeled himself. "I did that. It was me."

"You what?" I felt a sudden wrench. I knew what Clint's work entailed, of course, but this…? This wasn't the quick, clean work of a trained assassin; it was savaged, frenzied even, and as I stared I could almost feel the rage seeping into the air. Christ…

"Hold on. Maybe this'll help," Clint said, and fiddled with one of the gloves. The images flickered, almost imperceptibly, and then the flowing Japanese script morphed into dramatic headlines:

RONIN STRIKES AGAIN!

THIRTY KILLED BY CRUSADING VIGILANTE

YAKUZA BRANCH DESTROYED BY SWORD-WIELDING ASSAILANT. NO SURVIVORS.

"You killed thirty people?" I said, and felt my knees go a little bit wobbly. "That's…wow."

"I killed thirty people that time," Clint said, and swept both hands to one side. The newspaper articles vanished, and were replaced with a very similar set of images accompanied by equally dramatic Spanish headlines. "This was a Mexican drug cartel, and these—" another set appeared. "—were sex traffickers operating between North Africa and the EU. And these—"

"Okay, okay! Good lord; you were busy, Clint!" I could feel a headache starting to develop, and massaged my temples until it went away. "So how many did you kill? All together, I mean?"

Clint hesitated, the anxiety spiking in his eyes, and then he scrolled through the images until he reached a grid of mugshots. They were an egalitarian bunch, clearly drawn from every corner of the world, but I felt another wrench as I took in the sheer scale of his activities. "Two hundred? Three hundred, maybe? Probably most of 'em were in the last year."

Two hundred to three hundred…I nodded silently, momentarily lost in the seemingly unending parade of his victims. Criminology was a bit of a guilty pleasure of mine, and I'd watched enough 'true crime' dramas and documentaries to know a bit about vigilantes and serial killers. Even his lowest estimate would place Clint, or 'Ronin', amongst the most prolific murderers to ever stalk the globe. What the hell was I meant to say to that? What was I meant to do? I could see Clint studying me out of the corner of my eye, sadness and self-loathing writ large in his expression, and I knew I had to act fast.

"Oh, honey," I said soothingly. "I told you, nothing you've done can change the way I feel about you…and this?" I waved dismissively at the mugshots, as if they simply weren't worth my attention. "Why would this be any different?"

He stared at me, stunned into silence. Whatever response he'd anticipated, it clearly wasn't that. "I…didn't think you'd—"

"Understand?" I rolled my eyes, even as I thought faster than I had in quite some time. "C'mon, Clint; Fury puts out a call, you go running off with your bow and your sword, and then our bank account gets a mysterious cash infusion and you come back spouting another tale of derring do! I'm not an idiot; I know exactly how you put food on our table, and I made my peace with that way before I married you!"

"This…this was different, though."

"Oh yeah? How?"

"Because I lost control, hon," he said hoarsely. "Thanos took you, the kids — almost everyone I loved, and what did he leave behind? Drug lords, pimps, and murderers. All I could think about was how…unfair that was, and so I set out to clean up after him. Rebalancing the scales, I guess."

"You were lost. You were lonely. You were angry!"

"I was a monster," he said. "It didn't matter who or where they were; I tracked them down and massacred them. Some of them begged for mercy, but—"

"You didn't give it to them? Good!" I said, and he looked at me in surprise. "What? These are awful people, Clint! I mean, wasn't that guy—" I pointed to a hard-eyed individual on the top row, "—wanted for skinning his victims alive? And that guy?" I pointed towards the bottom of the grid. "I'm pretty sure he was convicted in absentia for running one of the largest sex trafficking rings ever found in Eastern Europe! How much mercy do you think either of them showed their victims?"

"But…" Clint looked genuinely confused. "You aren't disturbed by this? Really?"

I thought about that for a moment. "Really. You know that I've always been proud of what you did, even if the rest of the world didn't agree. You've always operated off the books and under the radar; this is just…an extension of that. If anything—" my lips quirked, "—I'm a little irritated that you undertook this pro bono. How much does a drug lord go for these days?"

"Uh—"

"You at least swiped the drugs, right? I mean, c'mon."

Clint stared at me in amazement, and I could see the tears welling up in his eyes. "You know, hon, I didn't realise how much I missed your weird sense of humour. You always know what to say to make me feel better."

"It's my job, honey," I smiled and shook him gently. "And I wish I could've been here to help you then, but I'm here now, okay?"

Clint smiled back, sadly. "Yeah."

"And I know that sometimes it gets a little messy - but you know, it's not just about saving the world from people like H.Y.D.R.A. or Ultron. What's the point of doing that if all we're going to do is leave it to…to people like this?"

"It's not that black and white, hon—"

"Yes, it is!" I said firmly. "These are bad people, Clint! They maimed and they murdered and they enslaved people, and for what? Kicks? A feeling of power? Fine, maybe you were brutal - but so were they, and at least you were targeting people who deserved it! I mean—" I softened my tone. "—have you thought about the people you saved? Or how about the people who they never got to hurt because you stepped in? That's good, right?"

"Yeah, but I didn't set out to save 'em—"

"And do you think that matters? Of course not!" I gently squeezed his shoulder. "Look, I know that you don't think much about yourself right now, but I'm telling you that there's people out there who think you're a goddamn hero. Ronin, Hawkeye, or just Clint; it doesn't matter. All that matters is that you stopped the bad guys in their tracks and saved a lot of people from a fate worse than death. That's what they'll remember."

For a long time we stood there, listening to the wind soughing quietly through the old barn doors. I took a long, deep breath and exhaled slowly as I tried to collect my thoughts. While I was pretty sure that I'd stopped Clint from having a minor breakdown, my pretty words had been just that — words. I was still no closer to working out what I was meant to do about any of this.

"Well, you know what they say, 'Be careful what you wish for.'," said my little inner voice. "You wanted to know what Clint'd been up to, and now you know. Bet you wish you could just forget all this and go back to pretending like nothing happened, right?"

Okay, so…what were my options? As far as I could tell, 'pretending like nothing happened' actually seemed like the best option. After all, I couldn't tell the kids; Coop and LIla —Lila especially— thought that their Dad was a bona-fide superhero. To them, he was the one who sallied forth like some modern-day knight, pennant snapping in the wind, righting wrongs and slaying evildoers. While this was…roughly analogous, I knew that it could easily send Lila into a spiral, and worse, Coop would probably think it was cool. If he started spreading rumours about how his dad was actually some crime-fighting vigilante, then who knew where those could end up. The police? The surviving criminal underworld? The consequences of something like that didn't even bear thinking about, so…

"So, you're going to become an accessory to the murders of over two hundred people, all in the name of love?" there was a mental pause, and then. "Well, in for a penny, I guess…"

"Clint," I said quietly, and he stirred at my touch. Maybe it was the light of the screens, but I fancied that the lines on his face were a little less pronounced, and some of the tension had drained away. "Just to be sure...nobody knows you're Ronin, right?"

"Aside from Nat?"

"Nobody alive," I said, and winced at my own carelessness. "Sorry. It's just if any of those criminal organisations you attacked find out who you really are, then…"

Clint's eyes widened, as if realising something for the first time.

"No," he said, with some finality. "No, they couldn't. My face was covered every time I was, uh, working, and I always made sure to wipe the security footage. Until I started hittin' the bigger targets, the police kinda thought it was just rival gangs dukin' it out."

"But we have these images," I pointed at the device. "Are you sure there aren't any that are more incriminating?"

"Stark said he wiped most of 'em," Clint said. "The only reason he left these ones is 'cause he knew people'd go digging. If they couldn't find any images of Ronin, it would've looked a whole lot more suspicious."

"Sure, but you're the only one who uses that sword," I said. "We're going to have to get rid of it, and anything else you might've kept. Y'know, as a souvenir."

"Just the sword and the outfit, but—"

"Burn the clothes, melt the sword down for scrap. We have to; we can't risk anything."

"They're upstairs in my safe," Clint said. "But we're gonna need to go grab some gas. The fire pit might do for the outfit, but it ain't gonna do much to that blade."

"Okay. It's a start, I guess," I said, and ran my fingers through my hair. For now, at least, I didn't see much point in dwelling on it further. "I suppose that just leaves updating the StarkThing with what we know about Thera."

"I'll give Fury a call, too. 'Send him the photos you took," Clint said. "Either he'll know something about this 'Phoenix' virus, or it'll spur him into action."

"Hopefully. It's not much, but—"

"Hey; don't say that. You did good today, hon!" Clint grinned, and I found myself smiling bashfully. "Just wait 'till I tell him how Laura Barton hit the jackpot! You never know, you may've prevented something terrible."

"Maybe," I said dubiously. "I dunno. Listening to them earlier? Something…doesn't fit. Call it a hunch."

"Well, we'll see," Clint said. "I'm sure that we'll get another chance to investigate their little operation before too long."

-LB-

Morning slowly gave way to afternoon as we whiled away the hours, adding what we now knew about Thera and 'Vi' into the system. Granted, it wasn't much, but as we worked it became clear that a huge weight had been lifted from Clint's shoulders. While he obviously hadn't cared about the consequences of his actions during the Blip, the knowledge that he'd have to come clean at some point must've been absolutely terrifying. Now, the relief seemed almost tangible, and with each passing moment I fancied that I could see more and more signs of the old Clint coming to the surface.

"See?" said my little inner voice. "He's faced his fears and now they're no longer eating away at him. Maybe it's time you woman up and do the same, Laura."

I hesitated. "But…what about Clint? I don't want to force him to watch—"

"Clint's a big boy; he can make his own choices."

"Well—"

"Stop using him as an excuse. It's not fair on him and it's not fair on you."

"I—" I started, and Clint glanced up. "Clint, before we put Stark's thing away, there's something I need to see."

Concern flickered across his face. "Sure, honey; what is it?"

"I need to see—" I stopped. Each word felt heavy on my tongue, as if they didn't want to be heard. "I need to know if there was satellite coverage of our home. Five years ago, I mean, when…y'know…"

Clint stared at me, and the air suddenly thrummed with tension and anxiety. "Are you sure, hon? You don't want to—"

"You're right; I don't want to," I said. "But I need to."

"Why?" he asked, and his eyes narrowed. "Wait, did Thera put you up to this?"

"No!" I said, and then honesty compelled me to add. "Well, actually, I was asking him about it just before you arrived — and I know that makes me a terrible hypocrite after everything I said earlier—"

"Yeah, kinda," he said, with a crooked smile.

"—but I think I need to see it. You don't have to, if you don't want to, but…I do."

Clint was silent for another long, tense moment, but then he turned back to the StarkThing. With a series of short, sharp gestures he pulled down a menu from the top and selected several options, too quickly for me to follow. The screen flickered, wavered — and resolved into a high definition satellite image of our beautiful little farmstead, partially hidden beneath the clouds.

"You bookmarked it?" I said. "Wait, have you watched it?"

"Christ, no!" He shook his head. "But…I knew you'd want to."

"How?" I said. The timestamp at the top of the screen was now reversing, counting resolutely backwards towards the Blip. As the days and nights flew past, the house and the surrounding grounds seemed to fall apart, becoming dirty and dilapidated before my eyes. Vines and grass snaked their way through the outhouses and across the drive, and at night the only signs of life was the glimmer of lights coming from behind tightly drawn curtains.

"You asked me how far back the system could go," Clint shrugged. "Only one reason you'd ask a question like that, right?"

"Yeah, you kinda got me there," I admitted. The Quinjet appeared and vanished in a blur, and that night, the house was a darkened, abandoned husk. No lights, no signs of life…nothing.

"That was the Blip," Clint said, unnecessarily, and then with a twist of the wrist he accelerated the flow of time. Now instead of days, months were flying past, and as the years turned back on themselves the house seemed to somehow restore itself to its former glory, weeds and overgrowth retreating back into the fields, until—

"Here we are," he said. "The day of the Snap."

"Good," I said, in an equally curt voice. "Can I have the gloves, please?"

"You sure?"

"Look, hon; you just sat down in front of that blasted therapist and spilled your goddamn heart out — and then we came back here and you told me all about what you did as Ronin! After all of that, it'd be pretty pathetic if I hid behind my fingers and made you do all the work!" I said, and held out my hand. "Make with the gloves, hon; it's time I faced my fears."

Clint laughed a thin, brittle laugh as he tugged off the StarkThing's control gloves and handed them over. My fingers trembled as I pulled them on, and when I looked back up at the screen I felt the blood pounding through my ears.

"Well, here we go…" I smiled as bravely as I could, and tried to zoom in on the farmstead. Instead, I found myself rooted to the spot. "Here we go…"

"Are you okay, hon?" Clint looked between me and the screen. "You know you have to—"

"I know!" I said frustratedly. "I just…can't. I can't do it, Clint."

"Do you want me to—"

"No! I just — I need a minute, okay?" I took a deep breath. "This is crazy, right? I know it happened, and I know it's all over and we're here now and we're safe, but still…"

"Doesn't mean it ain't scary, hon," Clint said. "Hey, can I tell you something? I didn't want to say it in front of that therapist, but…"

"Sure, hon," I quickly lowered my hands, glad of the diversion. "What?"

"Well…" he was silent for a moment, apparently marshalling his thoughts. "You remember how Potts lent me a Quinjet so I could get home as quick as possible, yeah?"

"I remember you saying you would've stolen it if she hadn't," I said, a little pointedly.

"Well, while it was gettin' prepped I got talking to a couple of guys who'd been brought back by Banner, and they just couldn't believe that five years had passed. To them…well—" he shrugged. "—you know what it was like better than I do."

"Yeah."

"But then I found myself in the restroom, lookin' at myself in the mirror, and I saw…" he shook his head. "Well, I saw a strung-out, tired old man with tattoos and a goddamn mohawk. What the hell were you going to think when you saw me? What about the kids? Would you guys even recognise me?"

"Of course we would!" I said, and winced. "Okay, it was a bit of a shock, but…"

"...but that thought just wouldn't go away. I wanted to come home — I mean, I really would've stolen that Quinjet if Potts hadn't lent it to me — but I was scared, too. By the time I crossed into Missouri airspace, I was practically shakin' with fear. 'Never felt anything like it."

"Clint, I'm so sorry. I had no idea," I said softly. "And then I started making all those comments about your hairdo and your tattoos…why didn't you say something?"

"'Cause I was kinda overwhelmed at having you guys back," he said, with a smile. "And besides, that fear vanished the instant I saw the kids running towards me."

"They were happy to see you too, hon."

"But yeah, there was a moment, just one moment, when I really thought I was gonna bottle it," he said. "I guess…my point is that it's scary, but it's not going to stop being scary unless you face it head on. We face it head-on."

"Okay…" I took another deep breath and turned back to the screen. "Yeah, you're right. Let's do this."

I felt Clint's hand tighten on my shoulder as I raised my cold, clammy hands and zoomed in on the farmstead. Out in the fields I saw Coop, playing with Nate, and with a shudder I zoomed in further until only the picnic table itself was in frame.

"Not the children," I said firmly, and Clint nodded beside me. "Never the children."

With a twist of my wrist I sped up the recording, and felt a strange air of dispassion settle over me as a brown-haired woman came out, finished setting the table, and vanished back inside. A short while later she re-emerged, carrying a tray full to bursting with thick, juicy sausages. I cancelled the fast-forward, and after a moment's consideration slowed it down even further. I didn't know what I was expecting to see, but I wanted to make sure I saw it.

"Here we go," Clint whispered hoarsely. A fine sheen of sweat was developing on his forehead, and his grip tightened steadily as my doppelganger reached the table and set down the tray.

"Not surprising, really. This is the moment that he lost it all, captured forever in high definition and slow motion."

I watched, impassively, as the woman looked up, called her family for lunch, and turned back to the table. As she reached out for a hotdog her hand cracked, flaked, and then simply exploded into a cloud of ashen dust. It swept across her body in the blink of an eye, consuming everything in its path; skin, clothes, hair, and shoes, until there was nothing left but a puff of smoke. It floated lazily around the table, swirling in the breeze, until it streamed away in a sharp gust of wind. When the last wisp faded, the only evidence that she had ever been was a faint pair of footprints in the grass.

From start to finish, her death had taken all of two seconds. I stared at those footprints for what felt like much longer, wondering what I should be taking away from this.

"Laura?" When Clint finally spoke, his voice was strained. "Laura, are you okay?"

"I'm...fine," I said, in a faintly puzzled tone. "I need to watch it again."

"What?"

"Again," I said, and rewound the footage ever so slightly. Clint sighed, and shook his head as we watched the woman crumble to dust once again. Try as I might, I felt nothing except a vague sense of dispassionate calm.

"Again!"

"I don't get it, hon," Clint murmured, as we watched the footage a third time. "What're you hoping to see?"

"And out of curiosity, what point are we doing this just to torture Clint?"

"I don't know!" I said, and raised my hand to rewind it yet again. There was something here, I was sure of it, but—

"Laura, stop!" Clint snapped, and with some surprise I realised his hand was shaking. "Just…stop for a second! There's no way I'm gonna watch you die over and over and over again until you tell me what the hell you're looking for!"

"I don't know!" I said, and the dispassion gave way to irritation. "I've spent the whole damn week getting worked up over this, and now I actually see her—" I pointed at the swirling specks that had once been a woman. "—I don't feel anything! The only thing I'm wondering about now is what hoover she ended up in! How messed up is — wait, why're you looking at me like that?"

"Because…you do realise that's you, right?" he said, with an expression of both confusion and concern.

"You sure? Because that's not what happened!" I retorted. "Her hand exploded, Clint! I think I'd remember if that'd happened to me!"

"Oh yeah? So what happened, then? 'Cause when I turned around, you were gone!"

"I—" I faltered. "—I, um, don't know what happened, exactly…"

"Well, I've got a pretty good idea what's happening now," Clint said. His tone was gentle, but I could feel the frustration bubbling away just beneath the surface. "Thera was right; you really can't handle what happened to you and the kids, can you? You keep talking about it all using these euphemisms, like 'being away', or 'gone', but the truth is you died, honey. Thanos killed you, our kids, half the universe—"

Right on cue, the anger I'd felt just after the Blip came surging back. For a moment, I was absolutely convinced I was going to scream, but with a herculean effort I somehow managed to wrestle it back under control.

"No; you don't get it," I said, through gritted teeth. "Everything just…changed, Clint! I don't know what we're looking at here, but—"

Clint gave me an appraising look. "Still don't believe me? Fine; can I borrow the gloves?"

"Why?" I asked suspiciously.

"You'll see."

With an irritated huff, I tore the gloves off my hands, wadded them up, and handed them over. He quickly slipped them on.

"Okay. Why don't we watch a little further?" he said, with a calm, cool air. "Let me just zoom out a little, to…"

"No, wait—" I said, and in that instant my anger turned to ice-cold panic. "Clint, please!"

It was too late, and my heart rose in my throat as the image pulled back from the table to show the surrounding grounds. They were empty, and I felt a sick wrench as I saw Nate's favourite ball rolling unattended across the grass.

"You've gotta see this, hon," he said calmly. "In fact, I reckon that this is what you're actually afraid of."

"What—" I stopped, as my attention was drawn to motion near the garage. With a flick of his hand, Clint centred the view on his younger self racing across the grounds. He was moving faster than I'd ever seen him move before, looking this way and that in a desperate search for his vanished family.

"Look at him, Laura," my mind said, and I felt the anger building in the pit of my stomach. "It's just like he said; he turned around, and you were gone."

The young Clint skidded to a halt almost exactly on top of the woman's faded footprints, and stared off wildly into the distance. I could see him shouting something, sinews straining with the effort, but without sound I had no idea what it was.

"Of course you do. He's calling for his wife, the boys, Lila — anyone! But nobody's there, are they? Just specks of dust, floating in the wind."

With a final, wild look, he bolted, running towards the farmstead like a man possessed.

"And there he goes. He doesn't even know he's a widower yet; he doesn't know that he's got five years of hell before he'll see his family again."

"You said you went inside," I whispered, and Clint nodded, and his voice sounded very far away, indistinct over the growing ringing in my ears. "Then Nat phoned."

"As far as he knows, 'soup's on' was the last words he'll ever hear his wife say," suddenly, the fear became nausea, curdling within me. "And who was his wife?"

"Me," I murmured, almost too soft to be heard.

"His wife died, Laura."

"Yeah."

"You died."

"I died," I said, and felt the world spin around me. "I died."

Luckily, I made it to the window just in time.

-LB-

"That was low," I was saying, sometime later. "Really low."

Clint raised his eyebrows. "Worked, didn't it? How's that tea?"

"Just perfect," I sighed, and settled back into the embrace of the living room sofa. "Thanks for holding my hair back. Haven't needed that since I was pregnant with Lila."

"Well, I do feel kind of responsible—"

"You were fully responsible, you asshole!" I smiled, and cuffed him playfully on the arm. "But you were also right."

"Yeah, that sounds like me."

I smiled. "Very funny, hon. I've still got no idea what got into me. I mean, I was this close to claiming that it was all faked footage!"

"It was a lot to take in, hon," he said. "You were looking at a video of your literal death, after all."

"Yeah, I just figured I'd be more, y'know, dignified about it," I said, and gave him a curious look. "How'd you know what to do?"

"I didn't. I really thought you'd cracked," he said. "But then I remembered when you had that health scare. You were so damn calm about it until I freaked out, and then you freaked out. Honestly, I don't think you were ever afraid of seeing your death, so much as seeing—"

"—how it affected you. Yeah, I get it," I said. "I'm sorry I forced you to watch that over and over and over and over—"

"—and over—"

"I know, I know. But it must've been tough, right?"

He nodded. "It was…weird. Brought back a bunch of memories."

"If it helps, it didn't hurt," I assured him. "And I really don't remember my arm exploding."

"Well, how're you feeling now?"

"Calm," I said, and inhaled the gentle fragrances of the tea. "Too calm. I'm probably in shock, actually."

"How 'bout the anger? Is it…?"

"Dunno, but I feel better than I have in a long time. Certainly since you guys brought us back."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I feel...new. Like Laura Barton 2.0," I said, and considered this further. "Hey; maybe I am new! Do you think when I was put back together that it used my old atoms, or did it just use whatever was nearby? You realise I could now be part table, right?"

"Ah. I recognise this," Clint smiled knowingly. "You're on a bit of a high after finally releasing all that stress. As long as you don't try to make any life changing decisions or romantic entanglements or in the next few hours, everything'll be fine."

"It's okay; I'm not going to do anything stupid, babe," I said, and then a thought suddenly occurred to me. "Clint; we need to get re-married!"

"See, that's exactly the sort of thing I'm talking about—"

"No hon, I'm being serious!" I said, "Think about it; 'till death do us part'? I died, so…are we still married? Do I have to go back to being Laura Morse? What're we going to tell the kids?"

"Nothing!" He said, "You're still my wife, no matter what anyone says!"

"Then prove it," I said. "And you can do it right this time, too! No more of that 'I'm just a humble circus boy but please accept this possibly plastic ring that may or may not have fallen out of a Christmas cracker.'"

"You're still wearing it," he pointed out.

"Well, of course! I accepted it, didn't I?" I said, and laughed easily for the first time in what felt like days. "It's fine, honey; we can just pop down to city hall and get the licence reissued. I'm sure they must have a 'Blip certificate' or something for us star-crossed lovers."

"Why the rush?" Clint grinned. "Ms Morse isn't feeling insecure now, is she?"

"Why would I be?" I asked coyly. "All the other girls might think you're Clint Barton, Avenger and Saviour of the Universe, but they don't know about your awful jokes and terrible dress sense. Let's face it; you're your own worst wingman."

My possibly-ex-husband laughed, and then added, "I'm so glad you're not dead anymore. Life was getting pretty empty without you."

"What, was hacking up the Yakuza beginning to lose its shine?" I raised my eyebrows, and set my tea down on the table. "Now come on. We need to make sure we've got the StarkThing powered down and packed away before the kids get home, or we'll have to explain why Mommy and Daddy were spending the afternoon watching Mommy get vaporised."

"It was for a good cause," Clint said, and sprang to his feet. I watched him head into the other room, smiled, and followed suit. I'd died, sure, but at the same time, maybe this was…a new chapter in my life? Maybe it wouldn't be such a disaster after all.

I'd been given a second chance, and I wasn't about to waste it.