Chapter Eight: Storms over Missouri, Part One

While I was generally pretty relaxed about what the family got up to during the day, I had one firm rule; dinner was a communal affair. Even in our secluded little farmstead there was an ever-increasing array of electrical gadgets, and as far as I was concerned there needed to be a period of at least thirty minutes when they were turned off and we properly connected as a family. Coop and Lila might pout, but they weren't going to melt from being off social media for half an hour. Besides, it was important for Clint. While it was clear he was doing his best to avoid smothering the kids, it was equally clear that, if he could, he would spend every second he could beg, borrow, or steal with them. Dinnertime was rapidly becoming the high point of his day, and it showed.

Perhaps that was one reason why I found this particular dinner so trying. As hard as I had tried to ensure that my family had a balanced diet, there was no avoiding the fact that the Bartons were a clan of unrefined carnivores. When I presented the kids with a bowl of carefully arranged Greek salad, lightly drizzled with olive oil and crumbled feta cheese, the collective recoil was the same as if I'd upended a box of Brazilian wandering spiders on the dinner table.

"...because it's good for you, Lila!" I said, for what felt like the umpteenth time, "And it never hurts to have a salad once in a while. Besides, your dad went to all the trouble of preparing the vegetables, so eat up!"

"Aww, mum-" she began, but fell silent under my steady gaze. With a grimace, she returned to pushing the salad disconsolately around her plate. Nate looked at his sister, looked at me, and then quickly followed suit.

"Dad," Coop said suddenly. It was the first thing that he'd said since coming back from Thera's, and his expression was still one of deep contemplation, "Have you ever done anything that you were ashamed of? On the job, I mean."

My stomach lurched, and I looked quickly over at Clint. Our gazes met, and I shook my head ever so slightly. The dinner table was no place to discuss my husband's adventures as a cold blooded serial killer.

"Uh, well...son," Clint said, and coughed, "There have been times I've made a bad call, yeah, or the situation didn't change how we expected it to. There was that whole business with the Sokovia Accords, too."

"But you did what you thought was right!" said Lila, and added, "...didn't you?"

"It's not always that simple," he said, "Both Stark and Rogers were right, in their own way, and nobody was willing to back down. Looking back, if we'd been more willing to work together, then maybe we could've put up a more united front against Thanos, and…"

I reached over and took his hand, "Everything's clearer in the rear view mirror, dear."

"I know," he said, grimly, "But we acted like idiots, and everyone paid the price for it. So...yeah, I guess I'm ashamed of that."

"But why didn't anyone else help?" he said, "How can anyone judge you or...or Auntie Nat if they didn't do anything to help?"

"Most people can't do what we do," Clint said, with a hint of pride in his voice, "But you're right; there's plenty of people who would rather look the other way or claim that we didn't need to turn up. Of course, those same people complain even more when we don't turn up, so you just have to learn to ignore them."

"There's some people on the radio who're saying that bringing us back was wrong!" Lila piped up, "They say that the Avengers shouldn't have just made that decision by themselves, and, and…"

"Some people are going to think that."

"But why?" Lila objected, "Aren't they happy that we're back?"

"I am, honey, and so are lots of other people," Clint smiled, "But...five years is a long time, and four billion people is a lot of people. Once people get used to the fact that their loved ones have come home, they're going to have to think about other things."

"Things?"

"Like jobs. Like water. Like food," my husband said, "In Europe I hear they've started rationing already. It'll probably happen here in a couple of months. The animals might have blipped back, but nobody's sure what's going to happen with the harvest. Global warming might be back on the agenda as well. There's probably a load of little things that we didn't consider when we set out to bring everyone back, but you can bet that we'll be blamed for each and every one of them."

"So was bringing us back the right thing to do?" Coop said, "I mean-"

"It was," Clint said, with finality, "The world might be in a mess now, but you didn't see how grey and...lifeless it was during the past five years. It was like...everyone was just a bunch of zombies, going through the motions. I know I was."

"But those things-"

"Can all be fixed, with time and the right people," he said, "You can't fix being dead, and you guys deserve the chance to show that we made the right decision."

"I have to say, Laura, we're off to a flying start," my mind said, "Your stance of 'go away, I'm busy' is just the kind of go get'em attitude this brave new world needs!'

"So, Coop," I said suddenly, eager to quieten that treacherous little voice, "Is this what Thera asked you to think about? How was your session?"

"It was fine, I guess," he shrugged, "He didn't talk very much."

"Oh?"

"He just kinda asked me about how I was doing - y'know, about us Blipping and everything, and then he got me talking about the times Auntie Nat came to visit and what we used to do together that was special to me," Coop paused, and then looked a little embarrassed, "And, uh, why that was less important than...um...'Some bloody third hand gossip spouted by random idiots in the street'."

"Yeah, that sounds like Thera," Clint's eyes narrowed, "Professional to the end. He's right, though."

"It was just...she really did do some of those things that they said she did, didn't she?" Coop said, "You know. Bad things."

"For good reasons," Clint said, and then added, "Most of the time. You might discover later that the intelligence was bad, or the situation changed in ways that nobody could've predicted. Sometimes you just plain screw up."

"So what do you do then?"

"Remember what went wrong and do better next time," my husband said, "And don't second guess yourself. Like your mom said, everything's clearer in the rear view mirror, but if you keep beating yourself up over old operations then you'll just end up going mad. Your Auntie Nat did a very difficult job and she did it well, but she didn't always win. Couldn't always win."

"That's kinda what Thera said. He also said...well…"

"Well what?" Clint asked, intently.

"He... said that I had great parents, a loving family, and that Auntie Nat's greatest gift was bringing us all back together again," he paused, and his voice cracked ever so slightly as he said, "That's what we should remember her for."

Clint and I exchanged a long, solemn look, and then I turned back to Coop and said, "We will, dear. I guess the question is how you want to remember her."

"Let's put together a scrapbook!" Lila said, excitedly, "I can cut out some shapes, and we can stick 'em all around the photos, and...and-"

"I...guess we could do that," Coop said, a little noncommittally.

"Yay!"

"I'll get those photos printed out, then," I promised, "Coop - Thera has said that he'd be okay with seeing you again if you wanted to. Is that...something you'd want?"

"I suppose," he said, even more noncommittally.

"Good - and no more fights, you hear?" I said sternly, "Otherwise I'll let Viola make good on her promise to teach you."

"Hold on," Clint said suddenly, "What am I? Chopped liver?"

"You might be tempted to go easy on him," I pointed out, "Considering how eager Thera was to get out of practice, I'm pretty sure she doesn't know how."

The rest of dinner finished in a slightly awkward silence, as my kids tried to eat the bare minimum of their salad under my watchful, and possibly slightly baleful gaze. Once they were done, there was just the simple matter of making sure they got washed up, brushed their teeth, changed into their pajamas, tidied their rooms, switched off their mobile phones, finished their homework and (in the case of Nate) had a bedtime story. By the time I had kissed the last one goodnight and staggered back downstairs the kitchen was sparkling clean and the dishwasher and washing machine were both going at full tilt. Even better, there was a freshly opened bottle of beer sitting on the counter, a trail of condensate drifting lazily away from its open mouth.

"Thanks, hon," I called.

"No problem," his voice echoed from the living room, and I followed it through to find him relaxing on the couch, beer in hand and book to one side. I plopped down beside him and clinked my beer bottle against his.

"Cheers."

"Cheers."

"Tough crowd tonight, eh?" I sighed, and leaned up against him, "Honestly, you would've thought that dying would've taught them the importance of good nutrition."

"I thought it was a great salad."

"You would," I said, "You made it. And enough for the next two weeks."

"Well, yeah," he said, and looked a little abashed again, "Sorry about that."

"It's okay, Clint. Don't apologise," I said, and turned to look him directly in the eye, "I understand why you got scared. It's just...it's going to take time until you let yourself believe that we're really back for good."

"Yeah," he admitted, "Sometimes it still feels like I'm dreaming - because I've had more dreams like this than I can count. They always ended with me waking up."

"Not this time, buster. I'm afraid you're stuck with us," I said, and kissed him quickly on the lips, "But if you ever start to feel nervous again, then let me know and I'll find you something else to do. Like chop more wood."

"Vegetables are easier."

"Yeah, but if we keep serving the kids salad we'll have a riot on our hands," I flipped back over and snuggled down against his side, "Bunch of savages. I bet they got that from your side."

"'Like your side is much better."

"True," I rolled my eyes, "But look at us 'great parents' now. We've come a long way since your circus days and...what was I doing when I met you? Socialite? Archaeologist? Brain surgeon?"

"Waitress, but I'm sure you fought crime on the side," Clint said, and took a swig of his beer, "But you've just reminded me - I was going to tell you what Fury found out."

"Oh yeah?" I said, and my stomach tightened ever so slightly, "What?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" I said, "Wait - that's it? So they're clean?"

"No - I mean nothing. There's nothing about either of them," he paused, and then said, "Look; almost everyone has something. You've got bank account statements, your passport, the water bill, and there's probably CCTV records from whenever we go to St. Louis. Those two? Nope."

"Yeah, but they're operating out of a warehouse in the middle of nowhere, under fake names, and don't really seem to move around that much. Why wouldn't they be beneath the radar?"

"With accents like those?" Clint snorted, "C'mon - London is one of the most heavily surveilled cities on the planet; if they went there, the chances of them not being picked up is slim to none."

"Yeah, but Thera said he wasn't British."

"And I'm not sure we should just take his word for it."

"Okay - but we don't have a picture of him. How did you get one over to Fury?"

"Oh, I just gave Fury the coordinates of their warehouse and let him worry about that. He can access the satellites just as well as us, and I'm not about to tell him that we've got one of Starks' old toys."

"And he found nothing."

"Nothing," Clint confirmed, "And if the most paranoid man in the world can't find anything with all his connections? That means that there's nothing to find, which ain't good. There's something else as well."

"What's that?"

"Fury was contacted by Doctor Strange."

"That sorcerer from TV? The one who can see the future?"

"Could see the future," Clint replied, "Turns out, he's kind of been in charge of protecting the Earth against the kind of things that you can't just blow to pieces. You know, like if someone opens a portal to the Tentacle Dimension."

"Don't tell me that we're about to be knee deep in tentacles," I said sharply, "I'm only just getting over being dead for the past five years."

"It'd be news to me too, hon," he said, "No - apparently their outfit can pick up mystical ripples or...something, around the globe. You know, like an early warning system, but for wizards."

"Okay."

"Well, when the Blip happened the entire system went nuts - probably couldn't handle all of you guys popping back into existence, but it's been settling down ever since. Last week, it got quiet enough that they've been able to tell there's something going on in Missouri."

"The ripples haven't died down?"

"It's not that - its like...well, Fury described it as mystical active camouflage. Like a cloaking device-"

"But for wizards - yeah, I get the idea."

"The trouble is, it covers half the state - and its good. It almost perfectly matches the 'background flux' - whatever they mean by that," he shrugged, "They only spotted it because they were following up on a completely different anomaly."

"And what are you - we - meant to do about that?"

"Nothing, really," Clint said, "It's not our circus. Fury just mentioned it because I was reporting about our own problems in Missouri."

"So what does he want us to do about Thera and Vi?"

"Again - nothing," he said, "If I'm being honest, he seemed a little...off. Possibly even a bit overwhelmed."

"Did he Blip?"

"Yeah, but this is Fury we're talking about! He's a force of nature; being disintegrated should've just made him mad," he sighed, "Remember that job I was telling you about? He hasn't nailed down the details on that, either."

"Really?"

"Really. If I didn't know better, I'd say this was his first week on the job."

"Well...what I'm hearing is that we don't need to worry about Thera and Vi, we don't need to worry about Strange, and we can have a nice quiet evening in together," I snuggled down a little deeper, "Those're orders I can follow."

"There is that Bulkagov guy-"

"-who can wait until tomorrow," I said, "Now shut up and relax."

"...I guess," Clint said, with an adorable little smile, "I wonder what's on TV?"

Tuesday dawned cold and blustery, and it took some effort to rouse the kids and get them moving before the bus came down the lane. Shortly thereafter, Clint left to drop Nate off at school while I set up Stark's old equipment. By the time he returned, I had set it all up and was busy searching for information on Peter Bulkagov. Although there wasn't a huge amount, what was there was...interesting.

After a little while, I heard the crunch of tyres outside and then the front door clicked open.

"Find anything?" Clint called.

"Come and see!" I said, a little excitedly. It had taken a little doing, but I had managed to arrange the windows so that Bulkagov's portrait took pride of place over the television, with the relevant information spread around it in what I thought was an easy-to-digest format.

"Pretty," my husband remarked, as he came into the living room.

"You're not so bad yourself," I said, and shot him a wry smile. He rolled his eyes in response and indicated the carefully-arranged data.

"'See you've been working hard," he said, "What's the story?"

"It's a bit of a sad one," I said, "Back before the Blip, he was an IT manager for this company called Helix International over near Springfield."

"I thought he worked for Stark Industries?"

"They're a wholly owned subsidiary," I said, "Anyway, he and his wife had a nice big house in the suburbs and the typical middle class lifestyle - you know, two cars, a couple of cats, daughter went to a nice school, did ballet and played the violin - etcetera and so on."

"Then the Snap..."

"Yeah, while he was driving to work. His car was involved in a massive pileup that included a fuel truck...and they had no way of telling whether or not he'd been turned to dust by Thanos or by a raging inferno," I sighed, "I guess until last month it didn't make a whole lot of difference either way."

"It does now."

"Yeah - he got lucky, if you can call it that," I said, "His widow packed up, sold the home, and moved back with their daughter to her dad's in New Jersey. Meanwhile, Helix International found themselves a new IT manager to replace Bulkagov, so…"

"He blipped back to the side of an interstate with no job, no home, and no family?"

"That's about right. He got packed off to a Blip Centre not far from here, and he's been there ever since."

"That's...tough," Clint said, and a hint of guilt flickered across his face, "We didn't mean for that to happen."

"I know, Clint," I said, kindly, "Besides, this one could still have a happy ending! Like you, his wife stayed faithful to his memory and she's been trying to get in touch with him. It's just that…"

"About one hundred fifty million people are trying exactly the same thing and most of the people who Blipped have no identification?"

"Yeah," I said, and pointed towards the final window, "Interestingly, someone else seems to have tipped her off to his specific location. It doesn't say who, though."

"No…" Clint looked at the data, and then gave me a quizzical look, "Some of this information looks like its been added by hand - recently, too. Does it say who added it?"

"I actually checked the edit history," I said, "It's been wiped clean."

"Kind of suspicious, don't you think?" my husband rubbed his chin, "We have a man who seems to have drawn the personal attention of Thera's fiancee, and then you find his life's story written up on Stark's private intelligence network with the edit history deleted. I didn't even know you could do that."

"You don't think that they-"

"-at this point I don't know what to think, hon," Clint said, "But...the odds are pretty good that if he's gotten their attention, he may have gotten the attention of some other groups as well."

"Well, we could go and see him," I said, "The Blip Centre's only about twenty miles away - in fact, I think this is the one that Thera said he helped out at."

"Um..."

"He only helps out there twice a week, Clint," I added, "I'm pretty sure we won't run into him."

"That's a relief," my husband grinned, "But still-"

"Look, hon, there's a chance here we might be able to get ahead of the game!" I said earnestly, "So far, we've just been reacting to whatever bits of information we've been able to get, but if this Bulkagov guy can come up with the goods, then maybe…"

"It's a bit of a leap, but Fury isn't being much help and we don't have anything else to go on," Clint said, and appeared to reach a decision, "Okay, let's pack this up and get over there ASAP. I'm going to go and get my bow."

"Are you expecting trouble?"

"I always expect trouble," he said, and winced, "Sorry; that sounded less corny in my head."

"I'm not sure how."

"Hah," he snorted, "But seriously? This guy seems to have the attention of some unusual people, so...I'd feel safer if I had my bow."

"Well, it turned out you were right about Thera and Vi," I said, "So go and get yourself tooled up...Hawkeye. We have work to do."

"Mmm," Clint considered this, and winced again, "I bet that sounded less corny in your head, didn't it."

"Oh, be quiet."

From a distance, the Blip Centre was a forbidding place. As Thera had said, it basically amounted to a collection of shipping containers that had been rapidly converted to make them 'livable'. Even under a weak sun they still glimmered and shimmered, and I shuddered inwardly as I thought about how blisteringly hot they would be come summer. The entire complex was surrounded by two rings of chain link fence, with the only access being through an airlock consisting of two heavy-set steel gates. As we approached, the outermost gate groaned open and an ambulance came hurtling past in a blaze of red light and noise. We watched it go in silence.

"Pleasant place," Clint remarked, eventually, "Heavily fortified, too."

"Yeah - what's with all the defences?" I frowned, "Was this an old barracks?"

"The Army wouldn't house its soldiers like this," he said, darkly, "What are they doing here?"

"We'll be able to ask them soon enough," I said, indicating the intercom set into the side of the road, "Reckon they'll want to let us in?"

"Let me do the talking," Clint said, confidently, "If the military are running this place, then my name should carry some weight. I'm sure they'll let us in, though - I mean, they aren't keeping people locked up in here - right?"

"Thera seemed to be able to come and go."

"I suppose - on the other hand, where would anyone go to?" my husband looked around, "Without a car…"

"True. I wonder if that's deliberate or if they're just using what they had available. Anyway-" I said, and pulled up in front of the intercom, "You're up, Hawkeye."

"Roger that," he said, and leaned across me to press the button on the intercom, "Um - hello?"

There was a long pause, and I gave him a slightly incredulous look. Before I could comment, however, there was a loud squawk from the roadside speaker.

"Hello?" said the speaker. It sounded like a slightly harassed young man, "May I help you?"

"Yes," Clint said, "My name is Clint Barton - Hawkeye? I'm an Avenger; I'm here to see, um, Peter…"

"Bulkagov," I supplied, quietly.

"Bulkagov!" he continued, "I understand he's currently being held here?"

"Nobody is being held here, sir," the young man said wearily, "I'll open the gates for you. Please park up outside reception and sign in. Someone will be with you shortly."

There was a 'clunk' as the intercom went dead, and the automatic gate sprung to life with a metallic shriek. I carefully nosed the car into the airlock and watched nervously as the gate ground shut behind us. A moment later, the inner gate slid open, revealing a hastily built 'reception' consisting of a pair of mobile offices placed side by side and flanked by another pair of heavy set gates, which I assumed gave access to the Centre proper. Next to the offices was a small row of empty parking spaces, marked out roughly with white paint on the dirt. I gave Clint a quick look, shrugged, and pulled up in the nearest space.

"Well, here we are," I said, killing the engine, "You sure that bringing your bow along is a good idea?"

"Well, if I'm going to be 'Hawkeye', then I kind of need it," he said, "I mean, without it, how will they know who I am?"

"Is that really necessary?" I said, "I mean, he didn't exactly seem eager for your autograph - and they let us in anyway."

"Okay - then call it a hunch."

"Fine," I sighed, and climbed out of the car, "I'll go sign us in. You go get yourself geared up. Grab my coat, too!"

Unsurprisingly, the reception's interior was as ramshackle and hastily built as the exterior. A simple MDF counter divided the room down the middle, littered with forms and pens, and a bored-looking young man sat at a computer on the other side. On the walls there were a collection of pinboards, to which were attached various notices including invitations to group meetings and events within the Blip Centre. Aside from a couple of uncomfortable looking chairs, the rest of the room was bare.

"Hello, ma'am," the man said, and nodded at one of the many forms strewn across the desk, "If you could sign in, I'll make sure a chaperone will be along shortly."

"A chaperone?" I frowned, but picked up a pen regardless, "Why would I need a chaperone?"

"New orders from the top," he sighed, "We have children on site, and unless you have a criminal record chec-"

From somewhere behind the man, there was the sound of a door opening and a blast of cold air shot through reception, causing forms and notices to flutter alike. A moment later it slammed shut, and an immediately recognisable and extremely British voice echoed through the building.

"-just find out exactly what happened, okay?" it said, and sighed, "I'm not looking to blame her, but I did warn everyone that if those medicines weren't under better control then we'd end up having an incident. For now, if anyone needs so much as an ibuprofen they can bloody well come and get the key from myself or Summers, understood?"

"Sir," another voice said. It sounded tired.

"And find out who was with her, would you? We need to make sure that they're...as okay as they're going to be. This place isn't exactly helping anyone's mental state, and the last thing we want is this whole mess to flippin' snowball. Did you get a response from Central?"

"Yes sir, and...no sir."

"Naturally," Thera said, sardonically, "Well, keep trying. Also; you ever read 'Lord of the Flies'? Hunter kept on talking about it, and I had no idea what he was going on about."

"I'll get you a copy, sir," the other voice said, "Will that be all?"

"Um...well," Thera's voice was now approaching reception, "We've apparently just had a couple of unscheduled visitors, and I was wondering if…"

Thera rounded the corner, and he stopped dead as he spotted me at the counter. From the subtle tightening in his eyes, I guessed he wasn't entirely happy to see me.

"...you know what? Never mind," he called back, "Go get some sleep, mate."

"Sir."

There was a long, awkward silence while Thera and I regarded one another - long enough, certainly, for me to clock that he looked absolutely awful. From the shadows under his eyes to his generally wilted demeanour, it was pretty clear that he hadn't slept at all last night. His clothes were wrinkled and stained with a mixture of rain, dirt, and what appeared to be blood, and he was now sporting a bandage that covered the entire length of his right forearm. Interestingly, he had changed his contact lenses to a brilliant emerald green, and although they were a vast improvement on his previous two choices, they did little to detract from the overall picture of exhaustion and general dishevelment.

"Laura," he said, in a rather cool tone, "We have got to find you something more productive to do. Clearly you have too much free time on your hands."

"My goodness, Thera," I said, "What happened to you? Are you okay?"

"I'm hanging in there," he said. The receptionist caught my eye and shook his head very slightly, "We've had a bit of a rough night here."

"What happened to your arm?"

"There was a...very spirited discussion about the rules of knife ownership," he said, and indicated his bandage, "I picked up this little beauty attempting to stop a poor woman from...well, it doesn't matter. Better me than her, anyway."

"Shouldn't you see a doctor?" I asked, and he gave me a flat look, "Sorry - I mean...another doctor."

"Sure; let me know when one becomes available and I'll do just that," he said, and there was now an edge of frustration in his voice, "Although considering it took them five hours to get an ambulance out here for a woman who was actively attempting to kill herself, I'm not sure that we're particularly high on the list of priorities."

"That's terrible."

"Yeah, no kidding," he said, through gritted teeth, "Anyway, Laura. Why are you here?"

"Clint and I-"

"Clint's here too? Wonderful."

"Yeah," I said, and mentally braced myself, "He's just getting his bow ou-"

"His bow?" Thera blinked, and made a visible effort to compose himself, "Why would he need his fu-goddamned bow here? This is a Blip Centre, not...not…"

"The Thunderdome?" the receptionist supplied.

"Thank you, Kostas," he said, "I mean, I have no idea what that is, but - a bow? We don't allow firearms on site!"

"Well...technically a bow isn't a firearm," I pointed out, "And-"

"A trebuchet isn't a firearm either, Laura!" Thera all but shouted, "That doesn't mean I'm going to be okay if he starts wheeling one through the gates! Are you two insane?"

"I, uh-"

"Kostas, please tell me that I've fallen asleep and that this is some ridiculous nightmare."

"No, sir," the receptionist said, but added hopefully, "But perhaps you should get some rest. I'm sure I can handle-"

"I'll sleep when I'm dead, mate," Thera said icily, "In fact - that's exactly what I was doing before a ragtag bunch of misfits hit the universal snooze button. Who knew that being alive would be the millstone around my neck, eh?"

The door behind me clicked open, and Clint poked his head around the corner. He was holding my coat in his hands, which he quickly passed to me before taking in the scene.

"Is everything okay in here?" he said, "I thought I heard shouting and- oh, Thera. You're...here."

"Not by choice, believe me."

"And you look like hell."

"So I hear," Thera said acidly, "I also hear that you're packing...what's that term - oh yes, 'heat'. Did you miss the sign regarding the banning of firearms on site?"

"Well, a bow isn't really-"

"Oh my...goodness!" Thera clenched his hands, closed his eyes, and took a long, shuddering breath. A moment later, he pinned my husband with a look, "Okay...as you're an Avenger, I suppose that you can be trusted not to mishandle your equipment, and I'm really too tired to have a debate over the legal status of that bow. You can bring it in."

"Than-"

"But if there's even one incident -just one!- they will be picking you out of these containers for years to come. When archaeologists turn up here in a couple of centuries time, they'll be finding random little bits of your teeth and will wonder what happened to the poor soul who they originally belonged to. Do I make myself absolutely, positively, one hundred percent crystal clear?"

There was another long, shocked silence, and Kostas gave us both an apologetic look.

"Crystal, Thera," Clint said. Amazingly, he had a wry smile on his face, "You can calm down. I'm not gonna shoot anyone."

"Glad to hear it," Thera said curtly, "Now, why are you here?"

"We came to check up on a friend."

"I'm touched. Really."

My husband snorted, "No. His name is Peter Bulkagov. We just discovered he was being held at this Blip Centre."

"As I told you, sir, nobody is being held here," Kostas said.

"C'mon, mate," Thera rolled his eyes, "We've got a bunch of people living behind two reinforced steel gates with nowhere to go in the local vicinity. I know that they're not really being held here - but they kind of are at the same time. At least, y'know, until their loved ones come and pick 'em up. Anyways...you two know Peter?"

"Not that well," Clint said, smoothly, "But when we found out he was here we thought we should swing by and say hello. Be a friendly face."

"Mmm," Thera gave us a tired look, "That's very...sociable of you. Okay, give me a second to find his address and I'll take you to him. Kostas? I know you're due a break but would you mind-"

"Not at all," Kostas replied, "As long as you promise to go and get some rest."

"No promises," Thera sighed, "But if you can ask everyone to just sit very still in their housing and not touch anything for the next twenty minutes, maybe I'll be able to catch up on my sleep."

Thera vanished into the back room, and there was the sound of rustling paper before he re-emerged with something written on the back of his hand. With a curt gesture he indicated us to follow him, and we walked through a set of offices and what appeared to be a large conference room before emerging in a large patch of gravel, empty aside from some benches and a small playground. Arranged around the supposed meeting area, in a semi-circular fashion, were rows of the hastily converted shipping containers stacked two high, stretching off into the misty gloom in all directions.

Despite the worsening weather, there were still a large number of people out and about, although the sense I got was that they were out and about because they didn't really have anything to actually do. Some were milling around aimlessly, while others were reading, checking their phones or talking in small groups. Despite the hubbub of activity, the general atmosphere was one of purposelessness and almost overwhelming boredom. All these people were trapped in a government-enforced limbo, and they knew it.

"Just think, Laura. Any one of these people could have been you," my mind pointed out, and I felt a wrench deep inside, "That girl on the swing could be Lila, the tall kid lounging in the shadows over there could be Cooper, and...Nate might be that kid playing over there in the dirt."

"Blip Centre 43," Thera said, indicating the rows and rows of containers with an ironically grand gesture, "Known by its inhabitants as 'the Blippiest Place on Earth', although if that's a joke I'm not sure I get it."

"It's terrible," Clint said, "How can the government leave people like this?"

"Because you dropped about one hundred and fifty million people in their lap with no advance warning?" Thera said bluntly, and I saw guilt flicker once again across Clint's face, "I mean, we're talking about enough people to fill New York City almost fifteen times over, and they all need to be sheltered, fed, treated, and identified. It's a colossal undertaking."

"So how many people are there here?"

"Two thousand, give or take. All sorts, too; we've got entire families, parts of families, couples, lone adults, the estranged and widowed, sibling groups and lone children," he took a deep breath, "The kids are the worst part, really; we know that some of their parents are out there looking for them, but others…? They might have died during the Blip, or they just don't care. You see them over there?" I looked over towards where Thera was gesturing, and saw a dozen hopeful pairs of eyes staring back at me, "Every day, they're hoping that their parents will come and take them away - and almost every day they're disappointed."

"That's rough," Clint said.

"Try heartbreaking," Thera said, with a slight catch in his voice, "Anyway…"

He set off through the crowd of people towards one of the rows of containers, leaving us to trail behind. Almost immediately, people began to converge on the exhausted therapist, and in a flash he was buried under a throng of concerned citizenry, all waving their hands and shouting for his attention.

"Hey - Thera! Is Manny okay? How about Jacinta?"

"Thera! What happened to Flora?"

"Is your arm okay? Are you bleeding?"

"The toilets are backing up again!"

"Have you heard anything about my daughter?"

"When are we getting-"

"Guys? Guys! Guys!" Thera shouted, from somewhere deep within the pile, "Manny and Jacinta are fine; they're just recovering in the infirmary. As soon as I hear anything relevant about Flora I'll be sure to let you know. I only got slightly nicked by that knife, and...if the toilets are backing up? Either unclog them yourself or contact the front desk! I'm not a bloody plumber!"

"And my daughter?"

"If I hear anything I promise you'll be the first to know!" he said, probably more sharply than he intended, "Vi is searching high and low, as I'm sure you're aware - but this is a big country, and everyone's looking for everyone else. It's just going to take time!"

"But what about-"

"I'd love to help, Vince, but right now I'm really busy," Thera continued, "I have to escort these two to go see Mr. Bulkagov, and I'm betting that by the time I get back there will be a small mountain of forms to fill out over last night's...festivities. If there's any information for you, Kostas will have it. Okay? Grand."

The scrum scattered as Thera pushed his way clear and stalked off towards the containers. Clint strode confidently after him, ignoring the collective, accusatory stares of the assembled inmates, and at that exact moment I was extremely glad that he had decided to bring his bow along.

"Thera's total ass when he's tired, isn't he," I muttered to Clint, who gave me a wry smile in response.

"Give him a break, hon; it looks like he's had a rough night-" he nodded at the therapist's bandaged arm as an example, "-and it kind of looks like these guys are looking to him to solve all their problems. That's a lot of pressure for one guy to be under."

"That doesn't seem fair."

"Hah," Clint snorted, "From what we know of the guy he probably demanded to be in this position. Still, it's interesting to see that even our superior, haughty friend's got a breaking point. Kind of humanizing, doncha think?"

"I suppose," I conceded, "I'm surprised you're defending him, though."

"Well…" my husband scratched at his chin, "In his own way, he is stepping up. I don't have to like him, but I can respect the effort."

"Where's the Army, though? It kind of looks like these people have been dumped here and just left to their own devices."

"It does kinda, doesn't it," Clint said, darkly, "Maybe I'll take that up with Fury. He might be able to get some more support."

Big, fat drops of rain began to fall from the sky, kicking up puffs of dirt as they slammed headlong into the ground. They were only spitting for now, but a quick look at the clouds overhead showed that there were likely to be a whole load more on the way in fairly short order. Thera gave the deteriorating weather a look of disgust and shook his head.

"Bloody weather," he said, "I'm sure that they said it was going to be clear skies yesterday. 'Should've brought an umbrella with me."

"I'm surprised they were caught out," I said, "I mean, storms in Missouri are no joke. It's tornado season, too."

"Lucky us," Thera said grimly, "Do they get big 'round here?"

"A mile across? We are inTornado Alley, Thera."

"Is that so? Well, something like that would just round off a perfect day, but I don't think we're going to be that lucky…" he yawned, "Bloody hell, I'm knackered."

"Yeah - what happened here last night?" I said, "I mean, we left your warehouse-"

"-and about twenty minutes later my phone was ringing off the hook," Thera said, "A woman left the medicine cabinet open and two of our younger, more curious guests mistook some paracetamol for sweets. Don't ask me why they did, or even how they got into the bottle - but they scoffed half of them before anyone realised what was going on."

"My god."

"Anyway, I came hurtling down here on my bike and I'm pretty sure I managed to treat them before they suffered any permanent liver damage-" he waved his hand back towards the main complex, "-I mean, I've got them in the infirmary at the moment for observation, but I'm sure they're fine. Unfortunately, it was just one thing too many for the woman who accidentally left the lock off, and…"

"That's where you got that knife wound from," Clint said.

"Yeah. Who knew that disarming someone failing around blindly with a knife would be such an inexact science?" Thera said, with a glassy smile. A moment later, the smile became a sigh, "It took the ambulance five hours to turn up. Five hours! She didn't get any better that whole time. It was…I can't begin to describe it. It was bad."

"No wonder you're exhausted," my husband said, in a surprisingly sympathetic tone of voice, "She's alive, though, thanks to you."

"I know, but..." the therapist said, and then shook his head, "You know what? You didn't come here to listen to me whine - you came here to see Paul."

"Peter."

"Exactly. Well-" Thera pointed up at a set of apparently innocuous white numbers, stencilled onto the side of one of the units, "This is his street. Let's go see if he's in."

With that, Thera turned into a row of containers that looked basically identical to the others that had come before. The 'street' in question was a wide dirt avenue, over which loomed stacks of converted containers on three sides, which deprived the area of natural light and cast it into a perpetual gloom lit only by the harsh electric light spilling from a few container windows. A low, mournful wind soughed through the metal stairs and kicked up eddies in the dirt, and I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up on end.

"This doesn't look friendly," Clint said tensely. Somewhere the distance a door banged shut, and it was all I could do to avoid jumping clean out of my skin, "Where is everyone?"

"Getting in out of the storm," Thera said, and nodded at a shadowy figure scurrying down the street, "You know, like smart people. Maybe Bulkagov'll be nice and let you ride it out in his unit."

"Which is his, then?"

"Um…" Thera consulted his hand, "Third on the right, second floor. In fact, that one right up there."

I followed his finger to an otherwise nondescript, red-painted unit, accessible by a simple metal spiral staircase. The lights were out, but in the darkness I thought I could make out a faint glimmer coming from somewhere deep inside.

"Is he in?" Clint said, a little dubiously. Thera shrugged in response.

"Won't know 'till we knock," he said, and started towards the staircase, "Besides, it'd be a little silly for you two to have come all this way and risk getting drenched just to go home now, right?"

"I suppose it wou- wait, who's that?" my husband stopped suddenly as Bulkagov's door squeaked open and a man stepped out into the rain. Despite the gloom it was clearly not our man; this person was tall and wiry, with a full head of blonde hair. His face was sharp and angular, and on the bridge of his nose were perched a pair of darkened Lennon glasses. He was wearing a dark brown leather trench coat, with a thick hood that he drew up over his head as he came down the stairs.

"Don't know," Thera muttered, "Don't recognise him."

"I thought you knew everyone here."

"Whatever gave you that idea? I just know the more vociferous ones. Still-" he stepped towards the bottom of the stairs and waited for the man to get close to the bottom before saying, "Alright, mate? How's it going?"

There was a gasp and spray of water as the man first jumped, and then fought to maintain his balance on the staircase. Once he had regained his balance, he fixed Thera with a look that made me shiver.

"What were you trying to do?" he said angrily, "Were you trying to make me slip down the stairs?"

"Sorry," the therapist said, contritely, "You, um, you've been visiting Bulkagov, I see."

"Don't see what business that is of yours," the man grunted, "But yeah, he's an old friend of mine."

"Wonderful. I'm just bringing my...um…associates here to see him," Thera said, "I mean, we were wondering if he was in, but it seems pretty clear that he is, so…"

"He said he was going to sleep," the man said shortly, "I'm pretty sure he doesn't want to be disturbed."

"That's a pity. What's your name, by the way?"

"Caleb," the man said, "Caleb Johnson."

"Nice to meet you," Thera said, and snapped his fingers, "I think I recognise the name - Row A, right?"

There was an ominous rumble from on high, and Clint and I looked up to see a sheet of lightning coursing through the clouds.

"Right," Caleb agreed, "And I'd like to get back there before this storm really gets goin', so if you wouldn't mind-"

"Oh - of course," he stepped back to let him down the stairs. Caleb gave him another chilly look, but obviously decided not to say anything else as he pushed past us towards the main complex. The shivers in my spine intensified, along with the unshakeable feeling that there was something very wrong here.

"Sorry - hold on a moment," I said suddenly, before I knew what I was doing. Caleb fixed me with the same baleful stare he had given Thera, and I felt Clint stirring a little uneasily beside me, "Caleb, was it?"

"That's my name, yeah."

"Laura," I said, and decided to try something, "You said you were an old friend of Paul's, right?"

"Pe-" Clint began, but stopped as I stamped lightly on his foot.

"Yeah," Caleb said, "I mean, we used to play together as kids, y'know, but I haven't seen him since he moved away. After we Blipped - well, us Blippies have to stick together, right?"

"Right," I said firmly, "I mean, you blink and suddenly you're five years in the future, you're living out of a shoebox, and the toilets are backing up! I mean, what gives?"

"Uh, right," Caleb said, a little uncomfortably, "I really have to be-"

"Going? Of course - I'm just complaining," I said, and gave him my most winning smile, "Just...did he say anything about his son? Has he heard anything about him?"

"No," the man said, "He ain't heard nothing about his son."

For just a moment Thera's eyes were as wide as saucers, and when he spoke it was in a tone of excessive calm, "Oh. That's a...pity. I was hoping for better news."

"I know," Caleb shrugged, "But what can you- hey!"

Thera had made a break for the stairwell, and in a flash was leaping up the slick metal steps two at a time. Caleb's hand flashed beneath his coat, and came out holding a heavy-looking pistol that glimmered evilly in the rain. He fired twice at the ascending figure, and then Thera vanished underneath another blinding flash of lightning, followed an instant later by its deafening report. Robbed of his original target, the man turned to face us with a snarl, but as he brought the pistol to bear Clint's bowstring twanged beside me, and the gun was whipped from Caleb's hand and pinned to a nearby container by a still-quivering arrow.

"Shit!" Caleb cried, and doubled over clutching at his injured limb, "Shit - you son of a-"

"Be quiet," Clint said, coolly, "You okay up there, Thera?"

"Oh, I'm just fine," an acidic comment came from on high, "Thank you for letting him shoot at me twice - you really can't get that buzz anywhere else. Let me just get the door, and-"

The door clicked open. For just an instant Thera seemed to freeze in time, and then his expression changed to one of abject horror and he collapsed to the floor, clutching desperately at the handrail for support.

"Goddess…" he murmured, just loud enough to be heard.

"Thera?" I called up, feeling a deep, cold ball of fear crystallise in the pit of my stomach, "Thera, what's going on up there?"

There was no response, but when I strained I could just about make out him whispering 'count to four, count to four, count to four, count to four...', over and over again like a soothing mantra.

"What have you done, Caleb?" Clint said. His voice was calm, but firm, "What did you do to Peter?"

"Why don't you go and look?" the man sneered.

"Why don't I just shoot you in the knee?" Clint said, drawing back on his bow, "You know what? I think I'm going to do that anywa-"

Caleb straightened suddenly, and suddenly I saw in his hand a collection of small pearlescent beads. With a smooth flick he hurled them at my husband, and there was a sudden crack of electricity and the smell of burned flesh filled the air. Clint dropped like a sack of cement, arrows scattering from his quiver as his half-drawn bow shot uselessly off into the dark.

"Clint!" I screamed, catching him before his head hit the floor. I quickly felt for a pulse and found one before I turned on Caleb, "You-"

"What?" he regarded me with a lecherous smile, "What are you going to do about this, girl? No big, strong archer to back you up now, and your friend up there looks to have checked out admirin' my handiwork. Tell you what; on account of the fact that you're a lady, I'll be merciful and make this quick."

"He's got a point, Laura," my mind said, as Caleb advanced with murder in his eyes, "What are you going to do about this? Being choked to death in the dirt isn't very Laura Barton 2.0, is it."

Lowering Clint gently to the floor, I stepped back into a low crouch. My heart was pounding in my ears, and my hands scrabbled in the dirt for something -anything- that would be of use.

"If you ask me, this fate seems more appropriate for Laura Barton 1.0."

"Be quiet," I murmured, "I'm trying to think."

"That's all you used to do, wasn't it? Think. Never act. Always hide."

"Be quiet," I said again, more authoritatively this time.

"Totally typical. You weren't there for Clint when he was suffering these past five years, and now you're here? You aren't here for him."

"Be-!"

"He's down, Thera's babbling inanely, and you? You're about as much use as a chocolate fireguard. What are you going to do, Laura?"

Caleb lunged with an expression of unsettling joy on his face, and as his fingers locked around my throat and squeezed, my fingers locked around a long, sharp object on the ground. Without a second thought, I bunched up my arm and drove it into his side as hard as I could. My would-be murderer howled in pain and wrenched the blood-stained arrow from my grasp, but before he could recover I drove my knee into his groin as hard as I could before staggering back to protect Clint.

"That's what I'm going to do," I choked, and massaged my neck. There was going to be bruising there for sure, "I don't care who you are. You stay the hell away from my husband."

"You…" Caleb growled, all pretence at civility gone, "You little-"

With surprising speed, he grabbed my shoulders and headbutted me. There was a crack and stars exploded in my eyes but raw, righteous anger steadied my gaze and as he drew back for a second strike I slammed my head into the bridge of his nose with as much force as I could muster. Blood spurted, and he stumbled backwards to his feet, clutching at his face and side.

A door nearby banged open, and someone poked their head around the corner.

"What's happening out here?" a shrill voice echoed across the yard. As if on cue, a flash of lightning lit up the awful scene and the woman screamed in terror. There was the heavy tread of boots on wood, and then another door opened, and another, and suddenly the street was awash with light as the air filled with cries of alarm from concerned onlookers.

"Help my husband!" I wheezed, as I staggered to my feet, "And call an ambulance! Bulkagov's- hey, you get back here!"

Suddenly faced with an entire street's worth of opponents, Caleb had clearly decided that discretion was the better part of valor. Despite his injuries, he was already half-running, half limping into the stormy gloom, and so I grabbed another one of Clint's arrows and set off in pursuit. By now, the rain had churned the dirt to mud, and my boots slapped wetly on the ground as I slipped and skidded towards my prey.

I had never been the fastest runner; hell, I had never been much for anything athletic, but I flew onwards on wings formed from pure adrenaline and raw, animalistic rage. I hurtled after him as he crossed the now-empty meeting area and entered another row of containers. Like Bulkagov's 'street', this was another cul-de-sac, and from the way he gave a start I realised that he had made a mistake.

"No way out now, you bastard!" I yelled, and with a cry of exertion tackled him to the ground, sending us sprawling through the mud as a tangled mess of limbs. While he struggled to regain his footing, I hung on and fought like a woman possessed, raining blows down on him with hands, elbows, knees, and feet. He was bigger than me and stronger than me, and I knew my survival hinged on him not being able to-

-a hand lashed out and grabbed my mud-slicked hair. There was another flash of lightning, and in that instant I saw a victorious, sadistic smile on his face. He yanked down hard, and pain ripped across my scalp as I fell. I twisted and managed to avoid hitting the ground head first, but the impact still knocked the wind from me and I lay there, gasping for breath as he climbed slowly to his feet.

"You crazy...psycho...bitch!" he spat, and gingerly touched the gash in his side, "Look what you've done! What did I ever do to you, hey?"

"I…you…" I rasped, fighting for breath.

"Ooh, you're gonna regret this," he went on, "You're gonna regret this for the rest of your goddamn life. I'm going to do to you what I did to that snitch Bulkagov, only I'm gonna do it slowly like, so you can watch."

Moving slowly, he stooped and collected the arrow that I had dropped when I tackled him, and then knelt down near my head.

"You see, darling, I'm gonna take this here arrow and carve out those big, brown eyes of yours, and then I'm gonna make sure they find you so that everybody knows what it means to cross Keame!"

The arrowhead sparkled in the rain, sharp and deadly.

"That doctor friend of yours? When he finds you, he's gonna just di-"

There was barely a warning, just a flicker of light in the sky - but it was enough. As lightning reduced the world to a brilliant white haze, I rolled over, grabbed the shaft still sticking out of Caleb's side and twisted. His roar of agony was drowned out by the thunder, and as he doubled over I snatched the arrow from his grasp, took his hand by the wrist, and hammered the tip home with a yell. There was a sickening crunch of bone, an ear-splitting shriek, and then the man went limp.

The world suddenly seemed very quiet, and as the adrenaline slowly drained away I realised how cold, dirty, and tired I was. With some difficulty, I got to my feet and regarded Caleb with disgust.

"You know, this would be the ideal time for a one-liner," my brain suggested.

"He's not worth it," I said coldly, and settled for a sharp kick to the ribs. He whimpered, and curled up into the foetal position, protectively cradling his ruined hand.

"Laura? Laura?" a voice echoed off the nearby containers, and a moment later Clint came around the corner with a small mob of Blip Centre inmates. His bow was drawn and ready, and his expression was a strange mix of concern and murderous intent, "Oh, thank God you're okay."

"Well…I…"

"What the hell were you thinking, running off like that?" Clint said angrily, "He could have hurt you! He could have...he…"

"He hurt you!" I said, suddenly on the defensive, "I couldn't let him get away with that. I couldn't…"

I faltered as I saw the tears forming in Clint's eyes, and suddenly a sob forced its way to the surface, "I'm…sorry, I..."

"Oh, honey," he said, and caught me in a rough embrace as the tears flowed freely, "I didn't mean to shout - I was just so scared when you ran after him, and…"

"I got him, though," I said, with a cold smile, "Nobody hurts my husband and gets away with it."

"Duly noted," Clint said, regarding the slightly mangled man with some amazement, "I still can't work out if you're insanely brave or just insane. I just can't wait to tell Fury about this."

"What, the day I beat an Avenger to their man?"

"Okay...maybe I won't tell Fury about this," Clint smiled, "He might end up recruiting you instead. You still did better than myself and Thera, that's for sure."

"Hah!" I said, and then gave a start, "Thera! What happened to him? He was just...I don't know what he was doing."

"Well, whatever he was doing, he shook it off shortly after you left," my husband said, "He's with Bulkagov now; said he was going to barricade the door in case Caleb had any other helpers around."

"Did someone call an ambulance?" I asked, and right on cue, there was the sound of sirens in the distance, "Okay, never mind. So...what are we going to do with Caleb here?"

"What do you think we're going to do?" Clint said, and his expression turned distinctly chilly, "We're going to take him inside. We're going to clean him up, treat those wounds, and then we're going to find out exactly what he knows."