Chapter Twelve: #273

For the rest of the evening, I lay on the sofa and watched the world float dreamily by as my aches and pains slowly caught up with me. Lila's TV time came and went in a confusing blur of angry, sword-wielding unicorns, while she sat next to me and bashfully apologised for shooting me in the face. Eventually, her show finished and she vanished upstairs, at which point I turned my attention to dinner.

"We're having takeout," I declared eventually, "I'm in the mood for Chinese. Besides, I can barely move."

"Are you sure?" Clint said, "I could make something."

I gave him a long, hard look. Five years of bachelorhood had done exactly zilch for his culinary skills, "No. Chinese."

"Okay, fine," he said, "I'll go find the takeaway menu…"

As he left, the front door clicked open and Coop came in. He looked tired and sweaty, but otherwise seemed pretty pleased with himself.

"Heya kiddo!" I said warmly, "'Have a good time?"

"Yeah," he said, and flopped down on a handy armchair, "'Went for a bike ride. It was pretty cool."

"What're your new friends like?"

"They're pretty cool too," he said, with a grin, "One of 'em kept asking me what it was like to Blip, though. She-"

"She?" an eyebrow went up.

"Yeah, mom, 'she'," he said, a little defensively, "Her name's Maria."

"Uh-huh."

"It's not like that!" he protested, although his cheeks went a little red, "She was just really curious, that's all."

"I bet she was," I said, and added, "Just you be careful, Casanova."

"Aw, mom!" he moaned, just as my husband re-entered the room bearing a small pamphlet. He gave us both a quizzical look.

"Coop here's picked up an admirer," I said, by way of explanation.

"What, a handsome kid like him? Never," Clint smiled, "D'ya think we're going to have to have 'the talk'?"

"You've already given me the talk like, three times already!" Coop protested, "Maria-"

"Maria, eh?" Clint said, and settled down next to me, "What's she like, then?"

"She's...pretty cool," said Coop, "We're all going to go out cycling again tomorrow."

"Were you now?" I said, and exchanged an amused look with my husband, "Do you think we should meet this 'Maria'?"

"I'm sure she hasn't heard 'the talk' yet," said Clint, "I've been meaning to turn it into a presentation…"

"You know, you guys aren't as funny as you think you are," Coop huffed, and reached for his pocket, "Hey, did you see this storm?"

He quickly swiped through his phone, and then handed it over. There were a number of images and videos of the Missouri landscape, all taken from different angles and of varying quality. What they had in common was the brilliant, blue-gold flower that had lit up the sky after the Blip Centre storm had collapsed.

"Yeah, we saw it," Clint said, "We got caught in it, actually."

"Do you think it's magic?" Coop said, and looked a little worried, "You don't think it's 'cause of the Blip, do you?"

"No, hon," I said reassuringly, "At least Strange didn't think so, and he didn't seem that worried about it."

"You met Dr. Strange?" Coop said, and I winced as Clint gave me a sharp look, "What were you doing?"

"Lookin' at the storm," Clint said, simply, "Like everyone else."

"But you talked to him? What was he like?"

"Honestly?" I paused, "Kind of arrogant and superior. Besides, you've met him; he was at Stark's funeral."

"I saw him," Coop said, a bit morosely, "But he didn't seem like he wanted to talk to a kid."

"I don't think he wants to talk to anyone unless they can do something for him," I said, and sniffed, "You would've thought that looking at fourteen million different futures would've taught him how to hold a decent conversation."

"Reckon he only looked up until Thanos died, hon," Clint said, "He just needed to know how to win the Battle of Earth."

"It's kind of...pretty, don't you think?" said Coop, and I heard a hopeful little note in his voice.

"Yeah," I agreed quickly, "It's a bit like the Northern Lights, if you think about it."

"I wish I'd seen it," he said, "But if it's not 'cause of the Blip, what do you think could do something like this?"

"Strange kept on calling it an 'entity'," I said, "But he said he also thought it had 'benign intentions', and I'm sure he knows what he's talking about."

"Oh, I missed that bit," said Clint, "When did he say that?"

"After he ran into Thera and almost got his head bitten off," I said, and grinned, "You should've seen his face; he didn't know what the hell had hit him."

"I'm pretty sure he ain't used to being yelled at. Mind you, Thera was kinda goin' off the rails."

"What're you guys talking about?" said Coop, suspiciously, "Was Thera looking at the storm as well? How does he know Dr. Strange?"

"I'm...not sure," I paused for a moment. Telling Coop about the conversation that Thera and Strange had had would mean having to tell him about everything that had gone on at the Blip Centre, and that was a can of worms that I wanted to keep closed - at least, for now, "Thera wasn't always a therapist; he trained in emergency medicine. Maybe they met there?"

"Ain't no love lost between them, though," Clint added.

"Thera did kinda have a point, though. The first time the world got a taste of magic, it killed half of us and left the other half to pick up the pieces. The last thing we need is a damn witch-hunt."

"What d'ya think is gonna happen when they learn that Dr. Strange subcontracted managin' this thing to Thera?" Clint laughed darkly, "There'll be riots in the streets!"

"Can you stop talking like I'm not here?" my son said, frustratedly, "You're saying that Thera's also trained in magic? 'Cause that's what Dad's just said."

"I...um," even as I floundered, I found time to give Clint a sharp look of my own, "Well-"

"C'mon, mom; stop treating me like an idiot! I know you and Dad have been up to something!"

"Watch your tone, mister!" I snapped. It was clearly the wrong thing to say, but at the same time he'd backed me pretty well into a corner.

"It's true though, isn't it!" he snapped right back, "How'd you get those marks on your neck, then? Did someone try to strangle you? Were you in another fight?"

"I-"

"And don't lie to me, mom!"

"Enough, Coop!" Clint said, firmly, "Go to your room!"

"Not until you tell me what happened! This isn't fair!" he said, and I was surprised to see tears forming in his eyes, "You think you're invulnerable just 'cause you already died once?"

"No," I said softly. The anguished tone in his voice had cut me to the quick, "No, Coop, of course not."

"Then what is it? It's bad enough when Dad goes away, but now Auntie Nat's died - and you're...you're…" he sprang to his feet and stormed off, "Screw you!"

"Coop-"

"I'm going to my room, mom!" he shouted back, "Isn't that what you guys wanted?"

He stamped up the staircase, and a moment later the sound of a door slamming reverberated through the house. There was a long, tense silence.

"Well, that deteriorated quickly," I said eventually, and gave Clint a wan smile.

"He's just worried about you," he said, "After everything that's happened...look, I'll go and talk to him."

"No, Clint, I'll-aah, damnit!" I bit down hard as I got unsteadily to my feet, "I'll go and talk to him. It's me he's angry at."

"Are you sure? What are you going to tell him?"

"What I should've told him down here; the truth," I said, "He's old enough to take it."

"If you say so," he said a little dubiously, "You need any help getting up the stairs?"

"Remind me; which one of us took down Caleb?" I said pointedly, "I'll be fine, thank you very much. You go order us dinner."

"What d'ya want?"

"You know what I like," I said, "Number thirty-seven, roast duck-"

"-with cashew nuts," he finished, with a wondering little smile, "Yeah...I remember now."

I returned his smile, and then reached out and ruffled his hair, "It's the little things, isn't it."

"They remind me why I do the big things," he said, and gave a shooing motion with his hands, "You go talk to Coop. I'll see if the Jasmine Garden's still in business."

The stairs seemed twice as long as they did in the morning, and my body made it's opinion known with every white-hot step. Now that Thera's painkillers had worn off fully every movement was a chore, but the last thing I wanted to do was to try and have a heart-to-heart with my son while tripping on whatever was in those pills. For now, all I could do was grit my teeth and power through the pain.

"Three kids," I muttered, as I hopped up another step, "No epidural. This is...nothing!"

With another groan, I reached the landing and inched my way towards Coop's bedroom, holding onto the wall for support. With some relief, I reached for the doorknob, paused, and then knocked instead.

"Coop?" I said gently, "Coop, can I come in? I'm not angry; I just want to talk."

There was silence, but I could tell it was a hurt silence.

"No? 'kay, that's fine. I can talk out here, and you can decide if you want to listen or not,"

I sank down slowly, my back to his door, and took a long, deep breath, "Look, Coop...I know this has all been really shit, and I'm sorry. You didn't deserve to be Snapped, or lose Auntie Nat, or have to see Dad with...whatever he's done to his hair. I bet it feels like the entire world's gone crazy, right?" I laughed bitterly, "I know how it is. You're sad, and scared, and angry, and you've every right to be. And you've got every right to be angry with me, 'cause God knows I haven't been myself since we came back…"

I put the back of my head against the door and drew my knees up under my chin, "The Blip was too much for me, Coop. I couldn't handle it. I...tried to pretend that it didn't happen. I shut out the world, even shut out your dad, and everytime he tried to talk to me about it I took his damn head off. I took everyone's head off; hell, I even became an Internet sensation. You remember that, right?"

The silence continued, but the door creaked gently, as if someone had leant against the other side.

"You're right, though; dad and I have been up to something. We thought we had proof that Thera and Vi were up to no good. They had these documents, and they seemed to know everything about us..." I waved my hands indistinctly in the air, "So we stalked them. We did some things we shouldn't have; we used Stark's satellites, tapped their phone lines...and I got to sneak around and pretend that I was some kind of super spy. I thought that I was doing it for a good reason and 'cause it was fun and I could spend some time in Clint's world, but that's all bullshit. I was just doing it so I wouldn't have to face the truth."

I paused, unsure of what to say next. When I found my voice again, it was thick and unsteady, "The truth is...I'm scared. And it isn't just 'cause of the Blip; I've always been scared. I'm scared of the world, and I'm scared of people. We don't just live down here 'cause Fury wanted us off the grid; I wanted off the grid too. I wanted my own little perfect haven where nobody could hurt me, where I'd be safe…" I paused, and snorted, "'Turns out nowhere's really safe, though."

From somewhere on the other side of the oak panelling, I thought I heard a sniffle.

"Case in point? I got this lovely bruise protecting your dad. There was this bad guy who...well, that bit doesn't matter," I waved the details aside, "The point is that for once I didn't run and hide; I stood up for my family and I managed to stop him, even if I got a... bit strangled in the process. I'm not ashamed of what I did, but I am ashamed that I tried to hide it from you. I was scared of worrying you, but I get now that the way I've been acting recently has been worrying you even more. I'm really sorry, Coop, and I promise you that it's going to stop. No more amateur heroics, okay?"

I waited for a response, or at least some sign of life, but eventually it became clear that neither were going to be forthcoming.

"It's okay, dear," I said, and got to my feet with a sigh, "You don't have to say anything now. If...when you're ready then please come downstairs; we're ordering Chinese for dinner. 'Thought you kids wouldn't want another evening of salad."

In the end Coop didn't re-emerge from his room, and so dinner was a rather quiet, subdued affair. I was also saddened to hear that the Jasmine Garden hadn't survived the Blip. It had actually gone out of business two years ago, but Clint had done some digging and had managed to find a new one that had sprung up only last week. Somehow, their roast duck and cashew nuts was even better than the Garden's, and I reflected on this as I struggled to keep my dinner between my chopsticks.

"Just 'cause everything's changed doesn't mean it's got to be worse, right?" I said, and gave a sigh of irritation as some duck plopped back into my bowl, "It might even end up being better."

"That's the game plan," Clint agreed, and grinned at my feeble attempts to feed myself, "You want a fork, hon?"

"Are you kidding? I'm going to finish this with these if it kills me," I said, and added wryly, "Again."

"You're holding 'em too far down, mom!" said Lila, as she delicately plucked a cashew nut from her bowl and popped it in her mouth, "You need to hold 'em up here - no, here!"

"Really? Where'd you learn that?"

"Internet."

"Of course," the new grip didn't yield any better results, but at least I now felt halfway authentic, "You know what? I blame these cheap chopsticks."

"I'm pretty sure the chopsticks ain't the issue, hon," Clint said, and then added, "How's Coop?"

"Yeah - where's Coop?" Lila chimed in, "You want me to get him?"

"No, Lila; leave him be," I said quickly, and then said, "I'm sure he'll be fine. You know how Coop is."

"What d'ya tell him?"

"The truth," I said, "About a lot of things. I don't know how much he was listening, though."

"Probably more than you think," Clint said, quite seriously, "He's always been a good listener."

"We'll talk tomorrow," I assured him, "But if you see him before I do, can you ask him if he's got any spare school stuff on the Blip? It seems like a better place to start than 'random sites on the Internet'."

"Sure," he said, "You reckon I'll see him before you do? You're the early bird."

"Normally," I shrugged, and grimaced, "But something tells me tomorrow's going to be a bit of a duvet day."

"Are you sick, mom?" Lila said, and Nate looked up from his duck, "It's not 'cause of-"

"No, dear, it's not because of you," I said, "I just...went for a run and forgot to stretch first."

"Tell you what," Clint said, "How about you go upstairs and have a lie down, and I'll put the kids to bed and get you a hot bath runnin'."

"That'd be nice," I said with a smile, "You sure you're okay with that?"

"'Course I am," he paused, and added, "Thera said that that'd be okay, didn't he? Hot baths, ice packs, and massages?"

"Sounds about right," I said, and gave him a curious look, "But since when did you start taking his advice?"

"Since Bulkagov," he said darkly, and looked quickly at the kids, "If he was able to walk that man to an ambulance, he knows what he's talking about."

Wednesday dawned bright and clear, with all the promise of a truly glorious day ahead. In a previous, more peaceful life this would have been a day of barbeques, water fights, and an evening spent watching fireflies flitting over the fields. In this life? Not so much. As soon as the sun came stabbing through the curtains I came to with a jolt, and then a groan as pain crackled up and down my spine.

"Damnit…" I murmured, and prodded my slumbering husband with a finger, "Clint? Clint!"
"Wasfgl?" he said, and then he was fully awake, "Wuh...what is it, Laura?"

"Water. Painkillers," I said, "And get the kids ready for school, would you? I can barely move."

"You want Thera's painkillers?" he said, "Or just regul-"

"Regular," I said, "I think his just made things worse…"

"Sure," he said, and vaulted smoothly out of bed with a hateful spryness, "You want breakfast? There's some leftovers from last night, too. You could even use the good chopsticks."

"Are you trying to be funny?"

"Tryin' and succeeding," he said, and I smiled despite the pain, "I'll be back in a sec, okay? Don't go anywhere."

"Har, har, har."

True to his word, Clint reappeared moments later with a pair of round white pills and some water, and then vanished downstairs with Nate in tow. Shortly thereafter, there came a great clatter of cutlery and the periodic spring of the toaster, and my stomach rumbled as tantalising scents began to waft their way upstairs. They'd clearly gotten the attention of my kids as well; moments later, there came the unearthly moans and groans of Lila and Coop as they got up, got ready, and then shambled downstairs for breakfast like an all-devouring undead horde. I smiled and burrowed my head into my pillow. For once, I was going to get a lie-in.

Ten minutes before the bus was due, there was a light tap at the door.

"Mom?" called Coop, "Mom, you awake? Can I come in?"

"I'm awake," I said, "And decent. Come on in."

The door creaked open, and Coop entered holding a plate of toast on one hand, and a small stack of leaflets and books in the other.

"Dad said you wanted some stuff on the Blip," he said, a little shyly, "These're what we were given on our first day at school. I also brought you some breakfast... y'know, in case you were hungry."

"Thanks, dear," I said warmly, "Are you feeling okay today? We missed you at dinner."

"I'm good," he said briefly, "Sorry 'bout last night."

"No, I'm sorry," I said, "I'm the one who hasn't held up her end of the bargain."

"Has someone been tellin' you this, mom?" he asked, "'Cause I don't know why you're being so hard on yourself. Sure, you had that bad patch with dad and you've got...that-" he indicated the bruise on my neck, "-but it's been crazy, mom. You can't beat yourself up for not being perfect."

"Thanks, Coop," I said, "C'mon, give me a hug before you go."

"Sure," he said, and came around the side of the bed, "But I was right about Thera and Vi, wasn't I? They couldn't have been any weirder if they'd tried."

"If they'd tried?" I laughed, and quickly embraced my son, "Have a good day at school, Coop!"

"Yeah, I'll try."

"And say 'hi' to Maria for me!"

"Aw, mom!"

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me to my thoughts. I had a strange, nagging feeling that Coop had just said something important, but I was too hungry and achy to care right there and now. Toast in hand, I turned my attention to the small pile of Blip literature, and tried to ignore the unpleasant twisting feeling deep in my stomach.

"Well!" I said to nobody in particular, and picked up a small, brightly coloured pamphlet titled 'We're glad you're back!' "...time to get to work."

It was not a pleasant morning. Whoever had produced these pamphlets had done a fantastic job in the time they had available, but despite the kind, age-appropriate language there was no way to completely avoid grim reality. It poked and prodded its way through the carefully sanitised pages in little ways that tugged at my heartstrings; 'Your younger siblings may now be the same age or even older than you!', 'Your parents may seem different, but they are very happy to have you back', 'Although you may be scared, another Snap is impossible'...

I ploughed on through Coop's collection, which unsurprisingly detailed how life might have changed for a Blipped teenager. Parents, families, friends, boyfriends and girlfriends...all older, that little bit sadder, and possibly gone entirely. By the time I reached the end of the last booklet, the final line 'What happened to you is not your fault' brought a tear to my eye, and I found myself smiling gratefully at the page.

Gruelling though it was, I knew it wasn't enough. While they'd helped to set the scene, I didn't really need these books to know that my husband was suddenly five years older or the local towns had all but collapsed. I wanted to understand what the Snap had been like for the world. With a sigh, I gave in and reached for my tablet.

Over the next few hours, I felt a deep melancholy settle into my bones as I hit up every article and video I could get my hands on. I watched people scream and panic as their loved ones exploded into ash at birthday parties, basketball games, and nightclubs. I read newspaper articles declaring that 'All is lost' and saw the burning wreckage of planes, trains, and automobiles. Tales of anarchy, civil war, famine, and suicide came tumbling off the screen...and all the while I sat there, feeling a strange mixture of numbness and impotent anger while the end of the world streamed past my ears.

When Clint came bearing lunch, he found me watching a tearful address being delivered by the Argentinian Prime Minister one week after the Snap. My Spanish wasn't nearly good enough to keep up, but the words weren't important. The anguish etched across her face, her tears - those were what I wanted to connect to, and my inability to do so was becoming increasingly frustrating.

"How's it going, hon?" he said, and glanced at the tablet, "Oh, I remember this one. She shot herself a week later."

"Really? That's terrible," I said, and paused the weeping politician, "Trouble is it's all terrible, but…"

"But?"

"It's...how do I describe it?" I thought for a moment, "It's like I'm watching the news, and there's a terrible fire or a building collapses and I feel bad for a moment, but then they show a video of a cat playing the piano and I forget all about it."

"Those cat videos are pretty funny," Clint smiled, and I laughed.

"Y'see?" I said, and swatted at his hand, "That's exactly what I mean! I know it's terrible and I know it happened...but it's like Thera said. I can see all the horror and the pain, but it's all happening on the other side of the screen. I just can't seem to reach it."

"It's okay, babe," he said, and I shook my head.

"No, it's not!" I said hotly, "And I'll tell you why it's not. Until we went to see Thera, I was wrapped up in my own little delusional world. My world, my lies. Agreed?"

"I...guess?"

"Right. Now imagine a whole Blip Centre full of people like that. They haven't been exposed to someone like you who lived through all of...this-" I rapped my knuckles on the tablet screen, "-and I'll bet they're just as wrapped up as I was. They'll be lost, afraid, angry at the people who they think took everything from them. Unless they realise that the people who survived were also victims, then they'll be rich pickings for people like that Keame guy."

"Yeah, Keame," Clint said darkly, "He's one of the reasons I came up."

"Oh yeah?"

"'Got something on the TV downstairs I thought you might be interested in. Also, there's this little toy-" he handed me a small mobile phone, and I turned it over several times in my hand before realisation dawned.

"This is Caleb's phone, isn't it?"

"Yup," he said, and looked a bit pleased with himself, "When he opened it up, I went ahead and changed the PIN. 'Figured there might be something on here that might be of interest to Fury or the police."

"Very clever," I said approvingly, "Y'know, for a circus boy."

"I have my moments," he said, "But look; if you're not having any joy with the tablet and if you're feelin' better, why not come downstairs and check out this thing on Keame? I'll bring your lunch."

"'Sounds like I haven't got much of a choice," I said, and gave my shoulder an experimental flex. It twinged, but the painkillers seemed to be doing their job, "Alright. Let me have a shower and I'll be right down."

The steaming hot shower did wonders for my still-aching muscles, but didn't do much to quieten the thoughts running around in my head. In my mind, I kept returning to the tortured expression of the Argentinian Prime Minister. She'd lost someone, clearly. Maybe she'd lost everyone. Maybe her hypothetical kids were even now stuck in some Argentine Blip Centre wondering why their mom hadn't come to get them. I tried to imagine that, and felt only a vague sense of sadness.

A short while later I came downstairs, still shaking droplets of water out of my hair. The kitchen and living room were absolutely immaculate, down to the last gleaming piece of silverware. Clint sat on the counter, eating a sandwich with a distant, contemplative look on his face. He stirred at my approach, and met my slightly raised eyebrows with an almost apologetic grin.

"You've been busy," I remarked, "You know the kids're never going to be able to find anything, right? There'll be complaints for weeks."

"Then maybe they should tidy away the legos when they're done with them," he said sourly, "Nate nearly learned some new words this morning."

"Wonderful," I sat down across from him and bit into my sandwich. Clint's cooking skills may have ranged from nonexistent to lethal, but he certainly knew how to put cheese between bread, "So what did you want to show me?"

"Check it out," he said, and gestured to the TV, "I had it on in the background while I was puttin' Nate's toys away, and they said that they were gonna have an interview with one Reginald Keame. Thought you might like to see it."

I peered at the television. It looked like Clint had been watching a typical midday talk show; the kind with comfortable seating, bright lighting, and possibly a small group of onlookers hiding somewhere behind the camera. On a large, wine-red couch were seated a man and a woman; the woman seemed vaguely familiar to me, although in reality she could have been any one of a number of pretty television presenters. The man, meanwhile, was someone who could generously be described as 'distinguished'. He was a tall, thin man with a lanky, almost delicate frame. His carefully combed black hair was streaked through with silver, and he had strong, well-defined features that were maybe just a little too sharp to be considered handsome. He wore a pair of thick-rimmed black spectacles, and was staring at the camera with a cool, intelligent gaze. For just a moment it felt like he was staring at me, right through the television, and I shivered despite the noonday warmth.

"That's ol' Reggie, alright," Clint said, "Gotta say, his son's the spittin' image, although he wasn't wearing glasses when I saw him."

"This is the guy who ordered Caleb to torture Bulkagov?" I was surprised, "He doesn't really look the part."

"His son didn't really look the part, either, but he was a monster," said Clint, "Anyway-"

Clint unpaused the television and we caught the tail end of some polite applause. The woman gave the audience a bright, toothy smile and then turned to the camera.

"Welcome back!" she said, "With me on the couch now is Dr. Reginald Keame, CEO of Keame Refineries."

"Good day, ma'am," Keame said. He spoke with a slow, soft southern drawl, "And might I say, Abigail, what a pleasure it is to be here."

'Abigail' flashed that toothy smile again, and then settled back on the couch, "Now, Dr. Keame-"

"-Reggie, please-"

"-you've inherited Keame Refineries from your father, is that correct?"

"Yes ma'am. He built it up from nothing with his own two hands and I'm very proud that he chose me to carry on his vision."

"And what a job you've done!" Abigail said enthusiastically, "You've built another refinery and brought another two thousand jobs to Missouri. Quite impressive."

"I assure you that we are only just getting started," Keame said smoothly, "We are also looking to diversify into defence, through investments in Hammer Industries. To further my father's philanthropic vision, I am also proud to announce that as of today I have begun the purchase of Helix International from Stark Industries. Based on their excellent work, we aim to be rolling out gene therapy treatments for previously untreatable illnesses as early as next year."

I exchanged a quick glance with Clint, and said, "Helix International? Wasn't that-"

"Bulkagov's employer?" he nodded, "Yup."

"Very impressive!" the presenter said, "And of course, philanthropy is a key part of the Keame Refineries Credo. You yourself have become an advocate for the 'Vanished', am I correct?"

"The Vanished? Ma'am, do I look 'vanished' to you?" Keame said, and patted himself theatrically, "I certainly don't feel 'vanished'."

"Then what would you call yourself?"

"A victim," he said, "Both of Thanos, and of the world. While I am truly thankful for the hard work and sacrifice of the Avengers-"

There was a sudden round of applause, and Keame was drowned out by a chorus of whoops and cheers. I gave my husband a smile and patted him gently on the leg.

"-the world Stark left behind is unequal and unfair. The survivors of the Snap grieved and moved on. When an opportunity came to save us there was a debate as to whether they should! How does that make you feel, Abigail? You're one of the 'Vanished'," he said, and all but spat the term, "How does it feel to have people question whether or not you should be allowed to exist?"

From her expression, it was pretty clear that Abigail had not been expecting that, "Well, I-"

"Angry?" he said suddenly. The slow drawl was gone, now replaced with a fiery zeal, "Afraid? These are our family, our friends, ready to throw us on the trash heap so that they can keep the fruits of our labour for themselves!"

There was a mixture of boos and claps, again drowning out the now fired-up southern gentleman.

"How'd he find out that she Blipped?" I said, with some surprise.

"Her name's probably on the Missouri Memorial," Clint said, with slightly forced casualness, "We're all on there too, y'know."

"Even you?" I said, and sighed melodramatically, "For shame, Clint Barton."

"Well, when nobody could find me, I guess they just assumed I'd been Snapped too," he shrugged, "Besides, what am I meant to do - go and chisel it off?"

"Told you you Blipped with us," I said, and looked back at the TV, "Oh, they're starting up again."

The presenter looked flustered, but I could see anger begin to creep in around her eyes, "Dr. Keame, I hardly believe that-"

"With all respect, ma'am, you are in a very fortunate position," he said, "You returned to a loving family and your employer welcomed you back with open arms."

"That's true, but-"

"Most aren't as lucky as you," he went on, "I lost my son, but others have lost everything! They've been abandoned by everyone they've ever loved and left to rot in a system they can't hope to escape by themselves! To these people, to the 'Lost', I promise you that I will not rest until you have the justice that you deserve!"

There was another barrage of both boos and cheers, and I looked a little uneasily at my husband.

"What do you think he means by 'justice'?" I said.

"Whatever they want it to think, hon," he said, "He's playin' politics. I wouldn't be surprised to hear that he's runnin' for some office or another in the next couple of days. He ain't the only one who's attempting to whip up the troops, either."

"This isn't good, is it."

"Nope."

Abigail waited patiently until the crowd died down again, and appeared to compose herself with a bit of effort, "A very impressive speech, Dr. Keame. We don't normally allow those on this show."

"My apologies, ma'am," Keame said, "It's just that I get so...invigorated when talking about helpin' people that I sometimes struggle to control myself."

Clint snorted, and muttered something nasty under his breath.

"Of course," she said, with a slightly glassy smile, "And I understand that you have been trying to help some of the…'Lost'...by reuniting them with their families?"

"Yes ma'am," he said, "The Simon Keame Foundation is working to reconnect broken families across the United States, based upon information provided by the US Government, the Army, and the Avengers Orphan Initiative started by the late Natasha Romanoff. So far, we have reunited over five hundred families, including previously orphaned children. We hope that there'll be many more to follow."

"You didn't tell me she was doing that!" I said, and gave Clint an accusing look.

"I didn't know!" he replied, "I mean, I knew she was doin' something, but I stayed away…"

"She never stopped," I said, and felt a pang of regret deep inside, "She was always trying to balance that damn ledger of hers! If she hadn't-"

"But Dr. Keame," Abigail said, "There have been complaints; some have reported a slow response to some enquiries, seemingly arbitrary dismissal of others, and even harassment. What can you say to these?"

"I am aware of the harassment complaints, and the individuals in question have been disciplined appropriately," said Keame, "With regards to enquiries...we are attempting to reunite almost one hundred and fifty million Lost individuals with families that may have moved, split apart, changed names, or even died in the post-Snap era. It's a difficult process, ma'am, and it's going to take time."

"Well there we have it," Abigail said cheerfully, but as she turned back to the camera I caught the hard glint in her eye, "Dr. Keame, ladies and gentlemen!"

Thankfully, Clint hit 'pause' on the television before the applause could really get going. In the ensuing silence I could see the sinews working in his neck, and I could see the anger building with each moment as he stared at the screen.

"Hon?" I said, "Babe, you okay?"

"The 'Simon Keame Foundation'?" he burst out, "Seriously? The kid was a monster, and this is how he's being remembered? That's...insane."

"It sounds like Keame's trying to do what I wanted to do," I said, and was surprised to feel a little disappointed, "Y'know; help those people in the Centres."

"Nah, hon," he said, "You're not some kind of...Blip supremacist and you don't send people out to torture innocents. He's after something else."

"Like what?"

"Not sure," he said, "But there ain't no chance that him buyin' up Bulkagov's old company ain't related. If he's really after Helix for philanthropic reasons, then I'm a cabbage."

"You reckon that Caleb's phone might have something on it? He seemed to be pretty familiar with Keame."

"Good thinking," he said, "You know what? Let me get Starks' kit and we'll plug it in. It'll be easier than crowding around that tiny little screen. Just...Laura?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay with this? You know what's on that phone."

"You mean the pictures of Bulkagov, right?" I said, and he nodded, "Hon, I watched myself die. I'll be okay."

"It's not the same," Clint said firmly, "What Caleb did to him was grim! I mean, like the stuff of nightmares grim."

"Then we won't go looking for them," I said, "But if they come up, I'll handle it. There's no way I'm letting someone like Caleb beat me."

Clint smiled, "Stubborn to the end, eh?"

"You know me."

"True," he said, and got to his feet, "I'll go grab the equipment. You...if I were you, I wouldn't eat any more of that sandwich. I've already mopped the floor; I don't want to have to shampoo the carpet too."

Clint disappeared upstairs and reappeared a little later, dragging Stark's ever-useful surveillance system in its silver carry case. He wasted no time in setting it up in the living room, and then plugged the phone into the side. There was a brief 'beep', and a pair of green lights appeared on the surface of the sphere.

"I thought that we wouldn't be using this thing again," I said, as the displays flared to life, "Which was a shame, 'cause- whoa."

With a strange fluttering noise, another half-dozen windows suddenly popped into existence. They were clearly related to the phone itself, with at least three of them displaying thoroughly mundane things including call history, messages, and the camera roll. The thumbnails displayed were too small to clearly see, but I caught shades of scarlet and steel before Clint reacted and swiped the window away.

"Sorry hon," he said quickly, "We'll come back to 'em if we really need 'em."

"Hopefully we won't," I said, and shuddered. Even the hints I had caught were unpleasant enough, "So what do we have?"

"Well…if I remember, this map here-" he expanded a small tab to show a map of Missouri. A red line was drawn from a point near St. Louis, down the I44 to the Blip Centre and then straight to our farmstead, "-shows where the phone's been. It looks like this one's a seven-day history."

"That's creepy."

"That's Stark," he pointed, "Genius billionaire playboy philanthropist in public, genius paranoid neurotic mess in private. Anyway, this one-" he expanded another tab, and the line was replaced with a set of red dots, clustered around the St. Louis region and the Blip Centre, "Shows who he was callin', and we can probably find out who if we select one- yeah," a number sprang to life, alongside a date stamp, "...but it doesn't look like he's been naming his contacts. Burner phone, obviously."

"So what's that little red arrow up the top?"

"A call outside the map. Hold on-" the map blurred and refocused above New Jersey, "-well, ain't that interesting? It was made yesterday mornin', too. Early."

"Bulkagov's wife lives in New Jersey," I said, and felt a sudden chill, "No; he wouldn't-"

"'Course he would," said Clint, in a tone that was almost too casual, "You don't go an' torture someone like Bulkagov for no reason."

"But she doesn't have anything to do with this!"

"You sure?" my husband asked, "Maybe we weren't on the right track. What if it wasn't Bulkagov who had what he wanted?"

"You think... they were blackmailing his wife?"

"Maybe at first," he mused, "But obviously they wanted to turn up the heat."

"We should call her," I said suddenly, "She needs to know that Bulkagov's okay - or at least in hospital. God only knows what she must be going through right now."

"Just a minute, hon. We should probably just check the rest of the phone for messages first."

Clint quickly waved his hands, and the map was replaced with the text and voicemail displays, hovering side by side.

"Only one voicemail," he remarked, "Wanna listen?"

"Sure," I said, and mentally braced myself, "Go for it."

There was a small 'bip', and a moment later a voice drifted out of the sphere. It was unfamiliar, but it had a deep, menacing timbre devoid of empathy or kindness, and I felt my hair stand up on end as I listened.

"Alright, kid," it said, "Here's the job. Turns out our contact claims she ain't able to give us the goods. Either she was lyin' then or she's lyin' now, so we need you to go and show her what happens to people who ain't honest with the boss. Go to Blip Centre 43, tell 'em you're 'Caleb Johnson' and our boys'll make sure you'll get in without any trouble. Once you're in, find Bulkagov and make an example of him. I'll be sending you her contact details so you can send her pictures of your 'work'..." the man laughed nastily, "Look, she'll probably try to offer you all kinds of things to get you to stop, but the boss has been real clear on this. Either she gives us #273, the location of #273, or Bulkagov dies. Real simple, right? Oh, and make sure you delete this voicemail this time, got it? Even our friends in blue won't be able to look the other way if they find this. Idiot."

The voicemail clicked off, and I gave Clint a puzzled look.

"#273?" I said, "There's that number again...what is it?"

"Hell if I know," he said, "But Keame seems real eager to get his hands on it. That can't be good news."

"None of that was good news," I said, "How'd you think Thera's going to take learning that his Blip Centre's been infiltrated by Keame's men? You know we have to tell them, right?"

"Hah," he snorted, "Can't we leave Super Spy Vi to figure that one out for herself?"

"Don't you want to show her up?" I said, "I'd thought you'd jump at the chance to make her eat her words."

"Ah, it's ain't as satisfying as you'd think," he said, "But this #273…"

"I wonder…" I tapped my finger on my lips, "You remember when Thera and Vi were talking over the phone? When we tapped their line?"

"How could I forget?" he said, "Vi was nice enough to return my equipment in your handbag!"

"Maybe you should've tapped the right line then, hon," I retorted, "Anyway, they were talking about someone not being willing to sell something to them. Do you think…?"

"That'd be a bit coincidental, hon," he said dubiously.

"It does add up, though," I said, "Look; Thera managed to walk Bulgakov down to the ambulance. That means that Caleb -or whatever his real name was- didn't kill him, yeah? That means that his wife spilled the beans, and now Keame is suddenly buying up the company Bulgakov just happened to work for? Whatever #273 is, Helix has it."

"And they're a biotech company…" he said, and gave me a sharp look, "Wait, we're not coming back to that virus theory, are we? You think that it could be that 'Phoenix' thing you found?"

"I have no idea," I shrugged, "But I'm telling you that this is what Thera and Vi are after. Call it what you want - a hunch, women's intuition...whatever it is, they want it."

"When you put it like that, you make me kinda want it too."

"That's 'cause you're a child."

"Guilty as charged," he said, "Maybe we'll learn more from his texts."

"Or from phoning his wife? She was the one who has it!" I pointed out, "Anyway, the last time Caleb phoned her was probably before he got to work on Bulgakov; y'know, a last demand. I'd bet that any texts we find will just be his, um, 'work', with her begging him to stop."

"You're probably right."

"And If I was in her position I'd be going out of my head right now. We owe it to her to tell her he's alive. Please, Clint."

"Okay, okay!" he said, and held up his hands, "You're making me sound like some kind of heartless monster. Let me just get that number back…"

Clint navigated back to the map with practiced ease, and after a moment the sound of a phone ringing echoed through the house. My heart pounded in my ears, and I stood tensely by Clint while we waited for Bulkagov's wife to answer the phone.

"I, uh, just realised, something," my husband said, a little abashedly, "We're ringin' using Caleb's phone, so she'll think it's-"

There was a beep, and suddenly a stream of expletives blasted from Stark's kit at full volume. I clapped my hands reflexively over my ears and stepped back, immediately thankful that none of the kids were around to hear the highly inventive and wide-ranging invective now filling the air.

"Ma'am!" Clint was saying, struggling to be heard above the litany of curses, "Ma'am, I know you're upset-"

"Why are you ringing me?" she screamed, "I've already told you everything I can! Just leave me alone!"

"I'm not Caleb, ma'am!" Clint tried again, "Please listen to me!"

"Your husband is safe!" I said loudly. She might have confused Clint for Caleb, but I hoped that she wouldn't make the same mistake with me. There was a sudden silence, so total and oppressive that I wondered if the line had gone dead. A moment later, though, I could hear subtle, shallow breathing coming down the line.

"...safe? Are you joking? He was tortured! I have photo-"

"I know, ma'am, but please listen to me," my husband said, now speaking very quickly, "Your husband was tortured by Caleb, yeah, but we...kind of accidentally intruded on it. We captured Caleb, and he was taken for interrogation by a third party."

"You stopped Caleb?" the woman said. It sounded as if she couldn't quite believe her ears, "You saved Pete?"

"...not quite," Clint admitted, "He ain't dead, ma'am. We had a medic with us; he was able to stabilise him and got him to an ambulance."

"But these photos…"

"I've seen them, ma'am," my husband said, and added sincerely, "I'm...very sorry. I wish we had been there sooner."

"No, I'm sorry!" she bawled, suddenly, "I just wanted to see my Pete again! It's been so long, and...I was weak. I made a mistake, and poor Pete paid the price.."

"I know the feeling, ma'am," Clint said soothingly, "It's not your fault."

"It is. It is," she said, "I should have never gotten involved with those bastards. Now...oh, Pete..."

"He'll be okay, I'm sure," I said. Clint grimaced and shook his head vigorously, "Um, well...they'll do their best."

"Do you know where he was taken?" she said urgently, "Which hospital?"

"Sorry; Thera didn't tell me," I said.

"Or me," Clint added, "An' he then went and collapsed from exhaustion, so it ain't like we can ask him. There's only five hospitals nearby, though, so if you ring round 'em I reckon you'd find out where he is fairly quickly."

"Thank you," she said, "And thank you so much for everything you've done. If there's anything I can do for you…"

"Actually, ma'am-"

"-Sophia-"

"Sophia, there is one question we had," Clint said, "We keep hearin' the phrase '#273', and we reckon that Bulkagov was tortured 'cause of it. You wouldn't happen to know anything about it, would you?"

The line went silent again. When Sophia spoke, her voice was tight and carefully controlled, "May I ask who is asking this?"

"Sure," he said, and gave me a slightly cocky grin, "I'm Clint Barton; one of the Avengers? You know me as Hawk-"

There was a sudden intake of breath from the other end of the line, and then there was a loud, obnoxious 'boop'. The display that had been monitoring the call flared red for an instant, and then returned to the contacts page.

"-eye…" he said, "Hey, she hung up on me!"

"You sure about that?" I said, "Try calling her back."

"Yeah," he said, and pointed at Sophia's number. The phone rang, just once, and then we heard the familiar robotic tones of the voicemail service. He tried again, and got the same result, "You know, I think she might have blocked us."

"Let me try," I said, and quickly punched the number in on my phone. It rang through normally, and after a moment I heard Sophia's tentative 'hello'?

"Hi, Sophia!" I said brightly, "It's Laura Barton here. We were just talking when we got cut off, and- hello? Hello?"

The line went dead again. I stared at my phone's home screen, and then at Clint, "You know, I don't think she likes us very much."

"I reckon she doesn't like me very much," he said, "She hung up as soon as she heard my name."

"Well, she also heard you were an Avenger. Maybe that was it."

"After we brought back her precious 'Pete'? C'mon, Laura," Clint snorted, and I had to admit that that argument was pretty weak, "She really didn't want to talk about #273, either. Whatever it is, it's gotten her pretty spooked."

"Well, who do we know who could find out?" I said, "I mean, there...is Vi-"

"Oh no. I ain't asking her. Not after what she said," Clint said, "'sides, what makes you think she wants to talk to us? Right now she's probably got her hands full looking after Thera."

"Okay...so how about Fury? This sounds just like the kind of thing he'd be interested in."

"I can try," he said dubiously, "I gotta say, Fury's still worryin' me a bit. I'm not sure how helpful he'd really be…"

"Well if not him, then who?" I said, "We need someone, and it's not like help's gonna come knocking at our door!"

There was a knock at the door. Clint and I exchanged a stunned look, and then he looked at Stark's equipment with a chagrined expression on his face.

"Quick! Stall 'em!" he said urgently. He ripped Caleb's phone out of its housing and threw on the sofa, "I'll deal with Stark's kit!"

"You sure?"

"'Course I'm sure!" he said, "Get the door before they come around the side!"

The 'clicks' and 'snaps' of Stark's carry case echoed dully across the tiles as I went to answer the door. The silhouette on the other side was quite tall and slim, and for some reason I felt a little twinge of disappointment deep inside.

"You hoped it would be Vi, didn't you? Tears running down her cheeks, begging for forgiveness..."

"Hold on!" I called, partially to the silhouette, and partially to silence my inside voice. As I made a show of looking for the front door key, Clint quickly wheeled the silver box past and hauled it bodily up the stairs. As soon as he was gone, I turned the key in the lock and opened the door wide.

"Good afternoon- oh," I stopped. I had no idea who I was expecting (or even wanting) to turn up at this time of day, but the lanky, caped Master of the Mystic Arts was probably right at the bottom of my list. From his serious expression and chilly, businesslike air, I was pretty sure that the feeling was mutual, "Dr. Strange?"

"Mrs. Barton," he said, and gave me a thin smile, "We need to talk."