Chapter 25: Guilt by Association

I was right; I knew I was right. After all, what else could possibly drive a previously principled man to abandon everything he held dear, if not the identity of his son's killer? He'd pursued it with the unstoppable force of a tornado, and had let nothing and nobody stand in his way. The path of destruction left in his wake was dizzying; torture and attempted murder, blackmail and extortion...and those were just the crimes we knew about. Who knew what other horrors he'd committed, quietly and ruthlessly, to get him within striking distance of our family?

It wasn't just Keame, though. Even if we somehow stopped him Ronin had terrorised crime syndicates across the world, and if #273 ever saw the light of day there'd be nowhere we could run. We could change our identities, hide out in a remote community, and they'd slowly, patiently track us down even if it took them years. Never mind the bodycount; the insult was too great for them to ignore, and if they got their hands on us I was pretty sure that they'd made 'getting skinned alive' look like the easy option.

From the look of blank horror stealing across Clint's face, it was pretty clear that he was thinking along the same awful lines. Ordinarily, that lost expression would've had me rushing to comfort him, but right now? All it managed to do was stoke the flames raging and roiling deep inside. How dare he? How dare he put our children in this kind of danger and then just sit there staring at me with those soulful, puppy-dog eyes? Why was he staring at me anyway? Did he expect me to fix this? Tell him that everything was going to be okay? No! I was sick of having to be the empathetic one, particularly when all I'd gotten out of it was-

"This 'pretty farmstead'? A life of comparative luxury?" my inner voice muttered treacherously, "Vi was right, you know."

"I...I don't know what to say," he said, helplessly, "I'm...sorry. I, um…"

"You're sorry? Oh, that's good!" I said harshly, even as I did my best to silence those traitorous whispers, "I mean, sure, there's a bunch of mercs possibly days away from kicking in our door and dragging us off for a seriously aggressive skincare routine, but at least I'll be able to take comfort in the fact that you're sorry. I'm sure it'll make the hours of torture just fly by!"

It was wrong; I knew it was wrong even as I said it, and despite the incandescent fog I still felt a twitch of shame as my words hit home. It was my wrath that was in charge, though, and it watched with a sense of perverse satisfaction at his fear and remorse. After all, why should I suffer by myself when I could spread it around a bit? It wasn't like he didn't deserve it.

"You're right," Clint's shoulders slumped, and the shame twisted and writhed unpleasantly inside, "All those things Keame's doin', like his Blip Supremacy movement an' what he did to Bulgakov an' Bennett...if I hadn't killed Simon, he wouldn't have done any of that, would he? In the end, it's all my fault."

For a moment I wavered, but before I could say anything there was a tap at the door. It was gentle enough, but in my frayed state it was all I could do to avoid jumping clean out of my skin.

"Who-" I squeaked, and tried to force the tremor out of my voice, "Who is it?"

"It's me, Mom," Coop's muffled voice came from the other side, "And I don't want to know what you're doing in there, but the news is on in five minutes. Figured I'd give you enough time to put your clothes back on."

"Thanks, Coop!" I said, with some relief, "We'll be right down."

"Sure, Mom," he said, and I listened hard for the sound of his footsteps as he clomped back down the stairs. As soon as he was out of earshot, I turned back to Clint.

"I have absolutely no idea what we're going to do about Keame," I hissed, "But I know what we're going to do right now! We're going to clear away all these bits of paper, and then we're going to go downstairs and watch the news like normal parents, doing something perfectly normal at the end of a perfectly normal day! Understand?"

Clint nodded, silently.

"Good, because if you end up spooking the kids, I swear I'll make you wish that Keame had gotten to you first!"

With that I turned on my heel and stalked out the bedroom, leaving Clint to tidy away Vi's drawings. I knew it was petty, and I also knew I would regret it later, but right now I was quivering with self-righteous rage and it was really a choice between that and throttling him to within an inch of his life. In his current state, I was pretty sure he wouldn't try to resist, either.

"I'm curious," the little voice said, "Would you have been this angry if H.Y.D.R.A. had followed Clint home? He took them down by the dozen; do you really think they wouldn't have struck here if they'd had the chance?"

"This is different!"

"Why? Because he didn't get paid for it?"

I growled irritably, but then got a hold of myself and fixed a bright smile on my face. It was fake as hell, and I could already feel the ache settling into my cheeks, but being a little unsettling had to be better than sweeping stormily down the stairs and until the living room, right? I had to be careful; the instant the kids twigged something was wrong I'd be bombarded with questions, likely using Lila's patented rapid fire interrogation technique. What was going on? Had we had a fight? Why did we have a fight? What was it about? Who started it? Where was Dad? Could she have a cookie? Why couldn't she have a cookie? What's the fastest land animal? Was everything going to be alright? What's the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?

I shook myself and headed downstairs, achingly aware of each irritated creak from the floorboards. What I needed to do was calm down, regroup, and think, right? There had to be a way out of this, even if it involved calling in all of Clint's old favours. All I needed was five minutes of calm, and-

"Mom! Mom!" Lila's excited voice cut through my reverie like a hot knife through butter, and as I reached the foot of the stairs she came bounding out of the living room waving her phone around wildly, "Look! Look at what Maisie sent me!"

I relaxed slightly. Lila, thankfully, was too busy being 'Lila' to spot any emotional state that wasn't being broadcast from the side of a blimp, and my fixed smile became that little bit more genuine as I took her phone from her. On the screen was a picture of Maisie in her boxing gear, bruised, battered, but clearly jubilant. She was wearing an enormous grin and proudly held aloft a large, golden trophy which declared her to be 'District Women's Junior Champion: 2023'. Perched atop the gleaming metal was a small unicorn figurine, which had been carefully tacked in place and was positioned so that its pink highlights almost seemed to glow under the brilliant electric lighting.

"It's my Pink Unicorn!" Lila said excitedly, "You know, the one Maisie took the day we, um...well...it's her good luck charm, remember? Look at what she wrote below it!"

I scrolled down slightly, revealing the words 'Couldn't have done it without you, Lil! Xxx' and felt something catch in my throat. It was a touching act of kindness, and even though I was still seething inside I could feel the tears pricking at my eyes.

"That's nice of her!" I said, and smiled as I handed back the phone, "Good job, kiddo!"

"Do you think she's forgiven me?"

"It looks that way, doesn't it? I'm sure she wasn't really that angry with you in the first place, though. She knows how tough it is for you."

"I'll be a good friend from now on, I promise," she said quietly, "Even if...even if that means that I don't get to do all the things with her that I used to. It's not all about me, I know, but…"

She broke off and stared silently at her feet with the same doleful expression as my husband. It was uncanny, in fact, and although part of me desperately wanted to remain furious I could feel the flames begin to flicker and waver. This wasn't fair! I had the right to be angry, but...but...

"Oh, Lila," I sighed, and drew her into a tight embrace, "It's all going to be okay."

"I know, Mom," she sniffled, "It's just she's got her driving license and she's going out to meet boys and stuff and...I don't care about all of that but, I'd just like to do it with her, you know?"

I took a deep breath and exhaled. Truth be told, I wasn't really in the mood for this, but Lila needed me more than I needed to be raging impotently at Clint's screwup.

"Let me tell you something," I said, and sat down on the bottom step, "The older you get, the less age matters. It might seem like you're living in two different worlds now, but in ten years time you'll be able to drive and go to bars and do all those same things too! The Blip'll just be a distant memory, like a bad dream."

"I hope so, Mom," she said, "And you know what? I'm glad she didn't Blip."

My eyebrows went up, "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah! Her life's so much better now! She's got parents who actually care about her and she's...happy! I mean, like, really happy. If she'd Blipped, she'd still be stuck with her mom!" she smiled a little crookedly, "So it might be tough, but I'm glad. I'm happy for her."

"That's very grown up, sweetheart!" I said, with a smile of my own, "I'm proud of you!"

"I had some time to think," she admitted, "But I, um...Mom?" Lila paused, as if not quite sure what to say, "Do you really think I did? Kick her ass, I mean."

I thought about it for a moment, and then decided that honesty was the best policy, "I...don't know, hon. We'll probably never know what really happened when we got Snapped, or where we were sent, but...maybe?"

"I think I did!" Lila said, with her usual level of brazen confidence, "And Maisie thinks I did, too!"

"And isn't that what matters in the end?" I said, "Even if you weren't here you made a real difference in her life. That's something to be proud of."

"Do you think we kicked Dad's ass?"

"Not hard enough," I muttered, although Lila didn't seem to hear.

"I hope so. It must've been so lonely without us."

"He did say he dreamt of us. A lot," I said, "Maybe...that was our way of keeping him company?"

"Yeah," she stared down the hallway for a little while, and then said, "I asked him what he was doing when we were away, but he said he didn't want to talk about it. Did he do something wrong?"

"What makes you think that?"

"I dunno," she shrugged, "Something about the way he said it, I guess. You reckon he'll tell me when I'm older?"

"I'm sure he will, when he's up to it," I said, and squeezed her shoulder, "It was a really painful time for him, dear, and we've only been back about two months. It's a lot for him to take in."

"I know," she said, and then sprang suddenly to her feet, "I'm going to go ring Maisie and talk to her about her trophy! I want to hear all about how she beat up those other competitors! I bet she jabbed and hooked and then-"

I leaned backwards as her overexcited fist hummed past my face, and gave her a long, hard look.

"Sorry, Mom," she said sheepishly, "I'll, um, go to my room and talk to Maisie there."

"Make sure there's nothing breakable nearby," I said tartly, and she grimaced before dashing up the stairs, taking them two at a time as she hared towards her bedroom. As I watched her go, deep inside I felt a surge of wistful pride. No matter what happened in the universe, and no matter what challenges came to our door, it was strangely comforting to know that Lila was always going to be, well, Lila.

"Hey, Mom!" Coop called me from the living room, "News is on!"

"Great, I'll-" I caught sight of my coffee maker, glinting invitingly in the kitchen, and a sudden thought popped into my head, "Actually, can you pause it, Coop? I'll be right through."

I headed towards the kitchen, ignoring Coop's faintly confused cry of 'but it's the news!'. What I needed was a cup of coffee; or, rather, what I needed was to make a cup of coffee! Admittedly, I'd never tried its calming properties on a crisis of this magnitude, but coffee made everything better.

The setting sun was streaming through the windows at just the right angle and cast the kitchen in a serene reddish glow. It was quiet, too, so quiet that I could hear the slow 'drip….drip...drip' of the leaking tap, and the sounds from the rest of the house seemed oddly distant and dampened. I stopped at the threshold, and for the umpteenth time that day took a deep, calming breath. It was going to be fine. Everything was going to be fine, even if in the silence I was pretty sure I could hear a scythe being sharpened just on the edge of hearing.

"Have you noticed something?" said my little inner voice, "Besides the feeling of impending doom?"

"Do tell," I growled, as I crossed the kitchen to get the coffee. One scoop, straight in the grinder…

"You're not angry anymore."

"Yes I damn well am!" I snapped, as I dug viciously into the open bag with the small metal utensil. I transferred the contents into my small hand grinder, snapped it shut, and got a firm grip on the handle. The sounds of the coffee beans scrunching and crunching as I turned were very satisfying.

"No. You're trying to make yourself angry. There's a difference."

"And why-" I grit my teeth and pulled the handle around hard, "-would I do something like that?"

"Because, in your heart of hearts, you know that this isn't as simple as you want to believe?"

"Oh, really?" I said, as I furiously ground the beans into a fine dust, "He's the one who screwed up! He's the one who's put us all in danger. He's-" I stopped and looked towards the living room. Getting carried away here would be a disaster.

"-Ronin?" the voice finished for me, "But you knew that, and you didn't care. Remind me; what did you say when he showed you that list of his victims?"

"I…" I poured a measure ground coffee into the tamper and viciously flattened it, "I don't remember."

"Does 'I'm a little irritated you undertook this 'pro bono' ring a bell?" the voice said mockingly, "How about 'How much does a drug lord go for these days?'?"

"I was trying to comfort him!"

"You were trying to 'comfort' a man who just confessed to killing almost three hundred people? Strange reaction."

"Really? His expression...Christ, I'm sure he thought I was going to walk out on him!"

"Strange that you don't, really," the voice remarked, "On the other hand, why start caring now? You never did before."

"You're right," I admitted, as I slotted the tamped coffee into the machine and turned it on, "I didn't."

"Until now. Suddenly you're the target, and you don't like it."

There was a rush of water in the background, and then the comforting sound of the machine gurgling and burbling as it warmed itself up in preparation for the main event. Satisfied that everything was going to plan, I took my cup down from its hook, placed both my hands on the counter and leaned forward with a sigh.

"What's your point?"

"My point? Look around you," the voice said, "Look at this lovely kitchen, your expensive new car, even that nice, big TV that you've just asked Coop to pause. Pretty good going considering the furthest you ever got was Assistant Shift Manager at a dingy pancake house. However did you pay for all of this?"

"We paid for it with Clint's salary-"

"And we know exactly how Clint earned his keep, didn't we. What was it that Vi said?"

"Just because Vi said something doesn't mean it's important," I pointed out, "And she literally roasted some guy's eyeballs out! She doesn't get to pontificate!"

"She does if she's right. In the end you didn't care where the money came from, and you knew there was a risk; you just thought you'd never have to pay up. If you did, you'd have told him to stop!"

"You know I can't do that to him!" I said furiously, "He's an Avenger; it's part of who he is!"

"Oh, it's a part of who he is, is it? You encouraged him to go on those missions. You were 'proud' of what he did. You made sure he knew that every step of the way."

"Of course. I was supporting him-"

"You were egging him on!"

"Why would I do that?"

"You know why," the voice said scornfully, "And let's not forget how you felt when he asked you to step up in Nat's place. I still don't think he realises what finally being 'chosen' actually meant to you-"

In the middle of my internal discussion I had unfortunately taken my eye off my coffee maker, and it chose that exact moment to lash out with a gout of steam that seared across the back of my hand. With a shriek of pain and shock I jerked away from the machine and accidentally knocked my cup to the floor, where it shattered noisily into shards of azure crockery.

"Shit!" I shouted, as I staggered across the room to the sink, clutching at my scalded hand, "Shit! Shit! Shit!"

"Mom!" Coop's voice came from the living room, and a moment later he appeared at the doorway with a look of concern on his face, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I said irritably, as I held my hand under a stream of cool, running water. It looked pretty superficial, but it stung like an absolute bitch, "'Coffee maker caught me off guard."

"You really should get a new one," he said, eyeing it warily, "But I'll sweep this mess up."

"Thanks, Coop. I really appreciate it," I said gratefully, as he turned away to get the dustpan and brush, "Is Nate okay?"

"'Left him playing with his train set. I'm pretty sure he won't realise the rest of us exist until dinnertime."

"Be nice to your little brother," I chided him, "After all, when you're old and grey he might be the one looking after you!"

"Yeah, yeah," he said, and gave the coffee maker another careful look, "Are you alright, Mom?"

"I told you, I'm fine-"

"No, I mean...are you alright?" he said, and there was a definite note of anxiety in his voice, "It ain't like you to get burned by the coffee maker like that; that's Dad's thing! You're worried about something, aren't you."

"Coop, I-"

"C'mon, Mom! You've been acting all funny since Lila mentioned Maisie's dad in the car, and then as soon as we get home you and Dad rush upstairs…? You weren't just making out in there, were you."

"Um…" I looked him straight in the eye, and realised that I wasn't going to be able to duck this one. This was going to end badly; I could feel it, "No, we weren't."

"I knew it!" he said smugly, as he knelt down to sweep up the glittery mess, "But...y'know, Mom, they're gonna be fine."

"'They're'?" I blinked.

"Yeah, Vi and Thera?" He said, "That's who you were worried about, right?"

"Um...oh! Yes, yes!" I exclaimed and thanked my lucky stars that Coop had added two and two to get five, "Vi and Thera. Sorry; kinda forgot about Thera there."

"He'll be heartbroken, I reckon."

"Hah. You really think they'll be fine?" I felt a little desperate looking to my son for hope, but at this point in time I'd take anything.

"Well...I'm pretty sure that Thera was behind that storm we had a few days ago."

"What makes you say that?" I said with some surprise. He was right, but...

"Those Wisps of his," he said simply, "They're the exact same colour as that flower that appeared in the sky. Kinda obvious, right?"

"Mmm."

"And the first time I saw Vi, she dropped like twenty feet and landed like a ninja! She didn't even roll! I know that Maisie thinks her Dad's designs are unbeatable, but I don't think they were meant to stop people like that!"

"No, probably not."

"And they even went to see him, didn't they?" he said, "They went off with Maisie and she texted me when she got back home. Said they were still with her."

"You two seem to be talking an awful lot," I remarked, and his cheeks coloured slightly, "Remember what we talked about, yeah?"

"But Mom-"

"Coop!"

"I'm just saying that I don't think they're the sort who'd be caught by his security!" he said quickly, "They're okay; I know it!"

"You do, do you?" I said, and smiled despite myself, "Thanks, Coop. That's reassuring, I guess."

"Well, I get why you're worried about Vi, Mom," he said, quietly, "She reminds you of Auntie Nat, doesn't she?"

I inclined my head and frowned, "What makes you say that?"

"I dunno. Just a feeling, I guess?" he paused, as if to consider this, "I ain't sure how to describe it, but don't you think you've become good friends really quickly? Like, one day she's just here and you're talking and laughing like you've been friends for years? It really felt like you thought you were talking to Auntie Nat, or a..." he winced, "Substitute?"

"I'm not trying to replace Nat, Coop!" I said sharply, "Vi isn't a substitute!"

"I knew I was gonna mess this up," he said, "Um, well...in our Blip Class, we've been talking about loss and what it's like for the people left behind. So...like, we left a hole inside people when we got Snapped, and then when we came back there's a hole inside us 'cause now we've been left behind; y'know, the world's moved on, everyone's changed or...they're gone. Even if Vi ain't a substitute, maybe she's filling the hole that Auntie Nat left behind."

I gave him a long, hard look, and once again I was forced to remind myself he wasn't eight years old anymore, "Huh. You might have something there."

"Well...maybe," he said, but despite his noncommittal tone his chest puffed out in pride, "I just thought it was all really interesting. It's not the only thing I've got, either."

"Oh yeah?"

"You know when I was showing Thera and Vi the scrapbook and he suddenly started choking? Well, when I was putting it away I went back and looked at that page. Wanna know what I found?"

"Loads of glitter?"

"Nope!" he said, "I thought there was, but it was actually stars; loads of stars! There wasn't any glitter on the last page, either; I guess Lila must've wasted it all on the earlier pages and had to switch."

I had to admit, that did sound like Lila, "Okay, so...?"

"Without all that glitter, and those Wisps cleaning it out of the air... what did Thera choke on?"

"He was definitely choking on something."
"Doesn't mean it was the glitter. What if he was caught by surprise and it was an easy excuse?"

"Why would he need an excuse?" I said, and Coop shrugged, "What was on that page again?"

"It was a picture I took; you, Dad, and Auntie Nat just before she hit him with the pinata stick. Remember? Lila laughed so hard milk came out her nose!"

"Hmm," I frowned. Something about that seemed strangely familiar. In fact, I was sure Clint had mentioned it as well, but right now I was still too wired up to remember what he'd said, "Well...I don't know what to say, Coop. You might be right, but he could've just choked on his drink."

"Yeah, I know," he said, "Just thought I'd add it to the weird things that've been going on recently."

"Hey, it's a good spot!" I said encouragingly, "I didn't pick up on that, and I certainly didn't follow up on it. Maybe we should start calling you Hawkeye too!"

"Thanks, Mom," he said, and stood up with a dustpan full of shattered ceramic, "I think that's everything. How's your hand?"

"Better, I think," I said, and took it out from under the cold tap. It was still slightly red and a little tender, but at least it no longer hurt, "'Guess I got it under the water just in time. Did you pause the news?"

"Yeah," he said, "I mean, when I worked out how. 'Never occurred to me to pause live TV."

"Thanks Coop. You've been really helpful," I said sincerely, "Would you mind throwing those bits in the bin outside? I'm going to see what's really going on."

I'd never really thought much about our TV. Ever since Clint had brought it home (to the mutual delight of Coop and Lila) it had always just kind of been there, hanging unobtrusively above the fireplace. While it was probably ancient by post-Blip standards, it had survived five years of neglect without so much as a dead pixel and the surround sound was still as clear as a bell. It had done us proud, too, and over the years our family had spent plenty of popcorn-heavy evenings slumped around the living room while a fire crackled gently in the hearth.

But now, standing in the doorway, all I could suddenly think about was how...extravagant it was. Had we really needed something this grandiose? Okay, so the kids had gone all starry-eyed the instant Clint had hauled it out of the boot, but aside from movie night neither he nor I watched that much television, and the kinds of shows we did watch didn't really lend themselves to big screens or expensive sound systems. Now that Coop was becoming increasingly secluded in his room with his console, about the only thing it showed these days with any regularity were the seizure-inducing adventures of Lila's pugilistic unicorns.

The stairs creaked behind me, and I turned to see Clint's sock poking out between two balustrades.

"Hey, hon," his voice, laced with forced casualness, floated down from on high, "Are you okay? I heard swearin'."

"I'm fine," I said shortly, "'Burned myself on the coffee maker."

"Stings, right?" he commiserated, "You need anythin' for it?"

"I said I'm fine, Clint," I repeated, and went to throw myself down on the sofa. At that moment, the urge to twist the knife a little further had been almost overwhelming, but at least this time I was able to express myself without being a complete jerk about it. The instant Clint entered the room, I knew I'd made the right decision. Although his expression was carefully guarded, there was something about his body language and the steely determination in his eyes that immediately set alarm bells ringing in my mind. The last time I'd seen that look was before he'd shipped off to Schkeuditz, and before that it was when the Avengers had left to take down Ultron. Was he planning to take matters into his own hands? Surely not…

"You, uh, gonna unpause the news?" he said, and in response I silently handed him the remote. With a shrug, he pointed it at the TV, pushed the button, and the balding, but distinguished looking man frozen therein suddenly sprang back to life with the declaration:

"The headlines tonight: The newly-formed PMC Blacknest appeals for witnesses as almost thirty men go missing during a 'training exercise'. St. Louis Chief of Police calls for calm ahead of a surprise rally by Dr. Reginald Keame, and two are arrested after break-in at Helix International, following a series of events described as 'mystifying'."

"Of course it'd be the last item on the list, wouldn't it," I muttered, and Clint looked at me sympathetically. I pretended to ignore him.

"Didn't know those assholes were called 'Blacknest', though," he said, as the newscaster droned over pictures of some of the mercenaries who'd attacked the warehouse, "Ain't like they were identifyin' themselves or anythin'."

"Maybe they didn't want to be identified?"

"Or maybe they're really newly formed," he countered, "Like…'haven't had time to get the T-shirts printed' newly formed."

"Well-"

"I-" the screen cut suddenly to a sobbing young woman, clutching a picture of a young man who, I realised with a start, I'd last seen underneath my wheel arch with a purloined knife sticking out of his neck, "-I just want to know where my Lucas is! If anyone knows anything, anything at all...please let us know! I just want him back…"

"That's Smith!" I said, "You know, the one who thought he was a hit with the ladies? Oh, my goodness..."

"It wasn't your fault, hon," Clint said, "They attacked us!"

"I know, I know!" I said, and turned away, "But...she's never going to see him again and she's never going to know why. To her, he'll just have vanished, and-"

A deep male voice suddenly echoed through the room, and my blood suddenly ran cold as I realised it was the same voice that we'd heard on Caleb's phone, ordering him to go and torture Bulgakov. The camera panned up, revealing a tall, burly man with a hard face and menacing demeanour. Clint snorted in disgust, and when I glanced at him I could see he was deeply unimpressed.

"He ain't ex-military," he said scornfully, "Look at him. That man's ain't no more than a thug."

"As the owner of Blacknest," the thug began, "I'm authorising a reward for any information that helps us in finding out what happened to our men. If you have any information, please get in touch."

"An' if you do, we'll send our men to come torture you for it!" Clint said mockingly, "You know who that is, right?"

"Yeah, I know."

"So I reckon I'm right about them being new. Maybe Keame's tryin' to put a veneer of respectability on his goon squad before he starts gettin' really political. Even a ravin' idiot'd know that associatin' with thugs ain't great for your election chances."

"I thought you said he didn't care?"

"I said he didn't care if he got destroyed gettin' what he wants, but he'll want to actually get it first. Can't do that in prison."

"In other news-" the screen returned to the newscaster, "-the Chief of Police of St. Louis County, Colonel Fiona Lopez, has appealed for calm following the surprise relocation of Dr. Reginald Keame's rally. Dr. Keame has become known as a vocal advocate of victims of the Snap, and concerns have been raised regarding his increasing use of incendiary language. When questioned on this, Dr. Keame had the following to say-"

I was expecting it, but I still felt a thrill of fear as Keame's sharp features appeared on the screen. He was standing on a podium before a small group of journalists, and although he was clearly trying his best to hide it I could feel the cold fury oozing through every pore. Clint was right; he wasn't just angry, he was enraged, and it was clearly a testament to his self-control that he'd managed to hold it together even this long.

"Someone ain't happy," Clint remarked.

"Can't think why," I replied, "You'd almost think he was upset about something."

"This ain't that, hon; this is somethin' else. 'Sure of it."

"I utterly refute the allegations made towards me or any of my attendees by Colonel Lopez!" Keame said, forcefully, "As citizens of the United States of America, we have a constitutional right to assemble freely and peaceably. This is nothing more than an attempt by the current government to keep the voices of the Lost out of the public eye; to contain and corral us while they continue to run the country according to the demands of half its population!"

A brave reporter piped up, "But Dr. Keame; what do you have to say to those members of the public who accuse you of 'capitalising' on the Blip? There are many people who claim you are speaking for them specifically to further your own personal goals!"

"I believe you're referring to one Mrs. Laura Barton, ma'am," he said, and I felt a small thrill inside as I heard my name, "Is that correct?"

"Amongst others, yes."

"Well, I'm not sure why the views of one individual should be taken as gospel, but I would invite Mrs. Barton to attend my rally in St. Louis. I would be happy to share the stage with her, and perhaps I can even convince her that I'm not the 'asshole' that she believes me to be."

"He's callin' you out, hon," Clint said, with a twinkle in his eye.

"Oh, dear," I said, and closed my eyes, "This isn't good, is it."

"I dunno," he shrugged, "I reckon he's jus' bein' a bully. People don't really want to fight their friends an' family, an' if you can give them an excuse not to they'll happily take it. He doesn't want to give you that chance."

Another reporter stepped forward, "And can you explain why you chose to move the location of your rally at such short notice? What about the added costs and disruption for the people of St. Louis?"

For just a moment, Keame looked ever-so-slightly flustered, "Well, sir, let me tell you it wasn't an easy decision to make, but I believe that getting my message out is worth the difficulty. There are Lost in St. Louis, sir, Lost people and their loved ones, who are struggling to come to terms with their new lives. I just want to show them that there is hope for them in the future, nothing more."

"Yeah, he's lyin'," Clint said, and I nodded silently in agreement, "Ain't no way he's shifting somethin' like this at short notice without a really good reason. My bet is that someone's yankin' his chain, an' they want him in St. Louis for some reason."

"Why? #273?"

"Beats me," he spread his hands, "Not everythin' revolves around us, hon."

"And finally," the newscaster flashed back up on screen, "The biotechnology company 'Helix International' was broken into last night in what investigators believe to be a bungled attempt at industrial espionage."

"Oh God," I said, and sat bolt-upright on the sofa, my gaze fixed on the screen. My heart was pounding, and my hands suddenly felt clammy as I clutched at the upholstery, "C'mon, guys...please."

"The infiltrators, identified as-" a pair of mugshots flashed up on the screen, "-James DeFoy and Halim Almarada were found unconscious in the server room antechamber apparently suffering from halon gas exposure, following the accidental activation of the server room fire suppression systems."

I sagged back against the sofa with an almost explosive exhalation as relief flooded through me. It wasn't them! But...what did that mean? Where were they? Why hadn't Vi gotten in contact with me? She must've known I was worrying about her...

The newscaster paused, and then continued, "This break-in represents yet another crisis for the troubled biotech company, which was previously being considered for sale by Stark Industries to Keame Refineries."

"Hold on," Clint frowned, "'Previously'?"

"Yesterday evening, however, a brief message from Stark Industries CEO, Virginia Potts, suggested that she was reconsidering the offer, stating that Helix Biosciences' developments 'represented the truest values of Tony's philanthropic efforts'. This morning, Dr. Reginald Keame formally withdrew his offer, citing a limited product pipeline and 'amateurish' security, while promising to strengthen the security at his own refineries."

"Bill said somethin' about that," Clint said, "Apparently, the refinery ain't the place it used to be. Security's been tightened right up, an' he's hired a bunch of mercenaries to guard the place. The kind of mercenaries who... may or may not've been some kind of gang. He must've been talkin' about Blacknest."

"Sounds like it."

"'Course, since he's also made investments in Hammer Industries they're all been tooled up with next generation weapons, armour...you name it, they've got it. He's even replaced the guard dogs with these autonomous spider robot things. Everyone hates 'em, but…"

"-in response to Keame's accusation, the Director of IT Security, Sophia Bulgakov, has pledged to carry out a full investigation to determine how a breach of this severity could have occured. In a statement released this morning, she claimed that only 'someone with intimate knowledge of Helix security systems' could have reached the central servers, but accepted full responsibility and has offered her resignation, citing 'grave lapses in judgement'. More on this story as it develops."

"'Director of IT security'?" Clint laughed darkly, "Well, that makes sense! No wonder Vi and Keame were fightin' over her! An' to think we thought it was all about Peter."

"Yeah. It looks like an awful lot happened last night," I said, and added slowly, "But don't you think it was kind of odd that there happened to be a break-in the same night that Pepper suggested she wasn't going to sell?"

"Ain't odd at all; it's pretty obvious those guys were sent by Keame," Clint snorted, "What's really odd is that Pepper decided she wasn't gonna sell in the first place. I'm guessin' Keame ain't the only person havin' their chain yanked, but I didn't even know Pepper had a chain. You met her at Stark's funeral, right?"

"Only over the canapes," I shrugged, "And neither of us were in the mood for small talk."

"Tough woman," he said, "Mind you, she's been dealin' with Stark for decades, so she kinda has to be."

"No kidding," I remarked, "But anyway! Keame made a play for #273 and clearly missed out, so...that's good, right? We're in the clear?"

"It's a stay of execution," Clint said darkly, "He ain't the sort to let a couple of setbacks get in the way, an' you can bet he was plannin' his next move the instant he learned that his goons'd failed. Maybe that's why he's moved his rally."

"Patti did say he'd changed its location this morning…" I mused, "Maybe everything really does revolve around us."

"Well, I ain't gonna think about it right now," he said, and suddenly sprang to his feet, "You know what I'm gonna do, actually? I think I'm gonna take a snooze. Today's really taken it out of me."

"Really?" I gave him a long, suspicious look, "What happened to the Hawkeye that could go for days without sleep?"

"He grew up an' stopped tryin'," Clint said wryly, "Can't save the world when you're strugglin' to stay awake, right?"

"I guess," I conceded, "And today's been a bit of an emotional rollercoaster, alright."

"I know..." he paused, and plunged onwards, "And I know you don't wanna hear it from me right now, but I'm sorry. I'm really-"

"You're right. I really don't want to hear it from you right now!" I looked at his face, and relented a little, "But maybe I'll want to hear it from you tomorrow. If I'm still here, that is."

"You'll be here," he said firmly, "Count on it."

One of the things I liked most about Clint was that he was, by and large, honest. Straight as an arrow, in fact. It was an odd quality for a top-level S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, but maybe it was why he and Nat had worked together so well; she slunk around in cocktail dresses and catsuits to find out where things were, and then he went and got them, often with all the subtlety of a well-aimed brick. Unfortunately for Clint, that meant that he was really bad at being dishonest. Surprises, birthday presents, even his proposal...I'd known about them well ahead of time. Despite his best efforts, when he was excited about something he always slipped up somehow, be it through body language or a stray sentence here or there. It was pretty endearing most of the time, and I wasn't about to ruin his moment by letting him know that I'd seen his surprise coming a mile away.

Tonight was different. He was up to something, and I had a pretty good idea what that something was. Fear and guilt made a dangerous concoction, particularly when they were fizzing away in the brain of an expert assassin. I could understand where he was coming from, and I knew why he was feeling the way he was, but I knew I had to stop him. The consequences didn't even bear thinking about.

Following supper and a brief bit of family time we all headed to bed, all ostensibly satisfied by what had been a rich, full day. Still maintaining an affronted air, I quickly changed and slipped beneath the sheets where I lay, eyes closed and breathing shallowly, waiting for him to make his move. Hours passed, and as an enormous moon rose through the rose window I felt myself begin to drift, lulled to sleep by my warm, comfortable cocoon. I grit my teeth and shook it off; I had to stay awake, no matter what!

After an almost interminable wait I felt the bed shift ever so slightly, and then the duvet rippled as Clint came silently to his feet. There was just the faintest hint of footsteps on the bedroom floor, and then the door swung open on freshly-oiled hinges. Despite my annoyance I felt a small surge of admiration; after all, could Vi have done something like that. Well, probably, but she was a wizard or something like that, so it didn't count. Clint might have been pushing fifty, but he was still worthy of being called an Avenger.

Under my breath I counted quietly to thirty, and then got up myself and headed out onto the landing. A light was on downstairs, and I could hear a subtle murmuring as someone rifled carefully through the coats hung up by the door. They were quiet, but from the tone of voice and muttered swearing I could tell that things clearly weren't going their way.

"Okay," I whispered to myself, "Here we go."

I hadn't actually decided on whether I should just walk downstairs or try to creep up on him, partly because I hadn't really expected to get this far without detection. In the end I settled for creeping, and then somehow managed to step on every creaky floorboard on the way down. I couldn't have been more obvious if I'd been followed by a marching band, and yet Clint was so wrapped up in his desperate search that he didn't spot me until I coughed, loudly, from the lowest stair.

"Christ!" he jumped, and turned angrily to face me, "Laura-"

"Good evening, Clint," I said convivially, "Or good morning, I guess."

"What're you doing up?"

"I could say the same to you," I said, and twirled a pair of imaginary car keys around my index finger, "If you're looking for the keys, don't bother. I've hidden them."

"What?" he snapped, "Why?"

"We both know why," I said, and looked at the large olive sackbag hiding just behind the coats, "And unless that bag's got enough commando leathers for the two of us, that's the way it's going to stay."

"You can't do this!"

I took a deep breath and blew out my cheeks, "Well, it kind of looks like I have, doesn't it? How annoying."

He stuttered, faltered, and then fell silent, glowering at me so hard I thought my feet would catch fire. A moment later, though, a flicker of realisation crossed his face followed by a knowing smile.

"Wait; I know where they are!" he brushed past me into the living room. I padded along behind him and watched as he took a small painted pot down from a high shelf, popped the lid, and rooted around inside. The smile gave way to a look of intense frustration.

"Ice cold," I said happily, "I told you, you're not going to find them."

Clint slammed the pot back on the shelf and, after a moment's consideration, headed to the sideboard. Each drawer and cabinet was flung open in turn, and he sorted through them with the careful speed of a pro, putting everything back exactly where it was when he was done. Once the last drawer was inspected and found wanting, he rammed it shut and glared at me.

"What?" I said innocently, "I thought you said you had a thing for smart girls. I wouldn't be very smart if I hid them there, now would I?"

His eyes narrowed, and he looked past me towards the bookshelf.

"Hmm, now that's not a bad idea! Getting warmer!" I stepped aside as he took each book out in turn, checked it briefly for any sign of a tucked away key, and replaced it on the shelf, "Ooh; 'Appointment in Samarra'? Very apt."

"Never read it," Clint said brusquely, as I took it out of his unresisting hands.

"You should. It's really interesting," I said, "And it's actually all about you. Did you know that?"

"C'mon, Laura."

"I'm serious!" I said, as he continued pawing his way through the bookshelf, "The title's actually a reference to this really old story. You see, this guy's walking through a Baghdad market when he sees Death looking at him in anger, and...y'know, she's Death, so he runs back home, begs his master for a horse, and rides all the way to Samarra. A couple days later, the master runs into Death in the marketplace and says 'Hold on, buddy-"

"He said 'buddy'," Clint paused, "In ancient Baghdad?"

"I'm translating, Clint!" I said breezily, "Making it relevant for the modern age! Anyway, the master says 'Hold on, buddy, why were you so angry at my servant?' and she says 'I wasn't angry, I was surprised! I didn't expect to see him in Baghdad when I had an appointment with him that night in Samarra!'"

"That's very funny."

"Wong said something very similar, 'A person often meets his destiny on the road he takes to avoid it'," I leaned back against the wall and folded my arms, "Don't you think that's interesting?"

He stopped and turned to look at me, "I have to do this, Laura! Keame missed out on #273 this time, but that ain't gonna stop him for long! This is the only way!"

"Maybe," I shrugged, "But I think there was one little detail on that picture that you've missed. Or rather...wasn't there."

"What's that?"

"You," I said, "There's no way you'd run away if your family was in danger, so...where were you? What if you happen to be away on the very night that they decide to come for us? You know...doing something like, oh, assassinating a certain refinery magnate slash Blip Supremacist?"

His expression suddenly went rigid, and I knew I'd struck gold.

"Gotcha," I said, with a nasty little smile.

"How'd you know?"

"Seriously? I can read you like a damn book, Clint."

"Then you also know why I've gotta do it."

"I know why it's incredibly stupid," I retorted, "If the world wakes up tomorrow morning and finds that Keame's been riddled with arrows, how long do you think it'll be before the police connect his death to the World's Greatest Marksman? You know, the man who just happens to live in the same state and whose wife just happened to call Keame an 'asshole' two days before? You'll be locked away for the rest of your life!"

"Who said I was gonna use my bow?" he said, "Vi's got a rifle in the warehouse."

"So Plan B involves stealing from the woman who can control sunlight and see in the dark?" I spread my hands, "The woman who you thought booby-trapped her art supplies? C'mon, Clint; you'd be lucky if she just kicked your ass!"

"Look, if that's the price I have to pay, then I'll pay it," he declared, "I didn't bring you back just so I could lose you to a bunch of thugs!"

"And I didn't come back just to have you taken away from me and banged up in a supermax! And what'll the kids think when they find out their Dad's a murderer? You'll break their hearts!"

"Better that then what Keame has planned for them!"

"Oh, right, so the end justifies the means, does it? That's why we're in this situation!" I snapped angrily, "You're not alone anymore, Clint, so stop acting like you are and start thinking about your family!"

"I am!" he retorted, through quiet, gritted teeth, "I'm doing this for you!"

"I never asked you to kill for me! And what if this puts us all in more danger?"

"More danger?" Clint frowned, "Like what?"

"Like we don't actually know those mercs're coming for us because they found out about Ronin!" I said, "What if it's a reprisal attack because you murdered Keame because you were worried that he'd find out? You'd be creating our very own Samarra!"

"I…," Clint froze, and then a moment later his shoulders slumped, "...I just want you to be safe, Laura. You and the kids, you know..."

My acidic retort died on my lips as I stared deep into his eyes. I wanted to be angry with him, I wanted to scream and snap and snarl and tell him that it was all his fault, but... I couldn't. As annoyed as I was at him for going behind my back like this and acting like a man possessed, I could feel the fear, desperation, and self-loathing swirling around inside him in a big, confusing mass. What could I say or do that he hadn't already done to himself? Nothing. It would just be simple sadism on my part, and I'd be betraying him when he was at his lowest. Worse than that, though, was the realisation that I'd be betraying myself. This was how my Mom used to act, and I promised myself long ago that I'd have no part of that.

With a long, deep breath, I finally allowed the last angry embers to flicker and die, and then reached out and took his hands.

"Listen to me," I said, softly but firmly, "I know you want to keep us safe, and believe me, nobody's done more for you than us, but assassinating Keame? Stealing from Vi? You're not thinking."

"Oh, I'm thinkin' alright," he replied, and his fingers tensed in my grip, "I'm thinkin' about how this is all my fault, an'...maybe I deserve this. Y'know, like karma."

"Karma? Clint, this isn't karma," I said, and guided him gently to the couch, "And it's not your fault, either."

"How isn't it my fault? This is all my fault."

"No, it's not," I sighed, "Remember yesterday, when I was worried I'd put everyone in danger because of that merc attack? You said that I wasn't responsible for what the mercs did, and you're right. You're responsible for...all your stuff, but I can't blame you for what Keame's doing now. That's on Keame."

"But you said-"

"I was wrong, Clint; I was scared for myself and the kids, and you were the easiest target, and after that pretty little speech of mine about how we'd face everything together…"

"You're allowed to be angry, hon."

"Yeah, but kicking you when you needed me most? Twisting everything you said right back at you? I didn't exactly live up to my own hype, did I." I said sadly, "I get why you decided to take matters into your own hands, but the fact is...if you deserve this, then maybe I do too."

"What?" Clint blinked, "You reckon you deserve to be punished for what I did? You were-"

"Dead? Yeah, I'm well aware of that, thank you. Is that going to come up in every conversation we have?"

"Um, sorry."

"Besides, I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about before all that, back when you were in S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers."

"What about it?"

"I supported you. I cheered you on. I encouraged you to go out there to go and swashbuckle or whatever it was you were doing, and then when you came back I listened to those stories of yours and let myself believe that that was what was really happening," I said, "Vi was right; I knew exactly what was going on, but I didn't care as long as...well…"

"I got paid?" Clint said. He seemed a bit calmer now, and his voice was surprisingly non-judgemental. I nodded shamefully.

"It was so easy to just take the money and...not care where it came from," I said, "Any one of your enemies could've taken a crack at us at any time, and all I thought about was providing for our kids and making sure that we had a good life! I just assumed that we'd never end up in this position…"

"Nobody ever does."

"I know, but, um, that's not all…"

"Oh yeah? What?"

"It wasn't just about the money, I mean I supported you because I love you, but part of me also, um, loves you being…um," I winced, and my voice dropped to a whisper, "...Hawkeye."

"I'm sorry," he said, and a slight grin appeared on his face, "I didn't quite catch that."

"...I love you being Hawkeye..."

"One more time, hon."

"Fine! I love you being Hawkeye!" I snapped, and his grin broadened, "You said that smart girls were your thing? Well, that's my thing! The first time I met you I knew there was something about you, something I was drawn to, and when you told me you were a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent? God, I was hooked!"

"An' here I thought it was my roguish good looks an' winnin' personality."

"You're adorable, babe," I patted him on the cheek.

"But anyway, you ain't never seen me in action," he said, and added, "Well, until yesterday, I guess. You've only heard what I've been allowed to tell you an' the kids."

"That just made it even better, Clint!" I said, "I love you and I love being with you, but part of that's because I get to live this secretive double life in a S.H.I.E.L.D. safehouse. I'm not just a stay-at-home housewife, I'm this mysterious guardian of a top-secret hideaway that can even keep the Avengers safe-"

Clint snorted, and I slapped him on the arm.

"-hey! I know how stupid this all sounds!" I said, "But...when I'm picking up the kids, sometimes I can't help but think 'Sure, you're the life of the schoolgates, but did your husband stop a rampaging killer robot?' or 'Does your wife track down druglords?' You've always made me feel special, but you being Hawkeye makes me feel extra special."

"I gotta admit, I never thought of it like that."

"Why do you think I got so angry when Vi was mocking you? She was basically mocking me at the same time!" I said, "And why do you think I was so eager for you to take the job when she offered it to you? I mean, sure, the money'll help with college, but I also wanted them to see just how awesome you are. You know...how I see you."

"Does it really matter what a pair of upstarts think, hon?"

"No, you're right; it doesn't," I agreed, "And when you were attacked I felt so guilty for putting you in danger, but...it's tough, you know? Stark and Rogers and Thor get all the attention, and people can't even get your callsign right! You deserve more recognition!"

"Well, the way I see it is that I've got all the recognition I need right here," he grinned his signature grin, and I melted a little inside, "I know I might grouse about it from time to time, but at the end of the day I really don't want a mural or a statue. I jus' want to live happily an' peacefully with my family."

"Really?"

"Really," he said, "An' I know you don't really want to hear that, 'cause you got such a charge out of playin' super spy-"

"Yeah, it was...wow!" I said fervently, "Forget Thera and his sessions, I'm pretty sure that's what helped shake me out of my post-Blip madness. I was drowning in denial, and then you went and threw me that lifeline…" I paused, and added a little sheepishly, "I mean, sure, we know now that Thera and Vi were just messing with us, but sneaking around like that was like a dream come true."

"An' now I know what to get you for Valentine's day," Clint chuckled, "No chocolate, no flowers, just some X-ray specs and a pen that's also a lockpick."

"Yeah, laugh it up," I said sourly, "I know that all of this makes me sound like some giddy fangirl, but my point is that I've spent years supporting you because it also made me feel good! When you told me about-" my eyes flicked to the staircase, "-those guys, did I care?"

"No, not really."

"Exactly, and honestly, I'm really not sure how hard I would've tried to stop you if I hadn't been Snapped. After years of telling you how proud I was of you for what you did, for me to turn around now and claim that 'this is all your fault!' is just cowardly and hypocritical, and god knows you deserve better. So... I'm sorry, Clint, I'm sorry for how I acted."

"I'm sorry too," he said, "'cause you're right. I was actin' like I was on my own again, an' I wasn't thinkin' about what the consequences could've been. I really could've brought those mercs down on you guys."

"But you didn't," I said gently.

"'Only 'cause you stopped me. If you hadn't hidden the keys then I'd be halfway to his refinery by now."

"And if I hadn't lashed out at you, maybe you never would've tried," I said, "We've both made mistakes, Clint, and I'm not interested in working out who's worse-"

"-you're right-"

"-even if it's obviously you," I finished, and ducked out of the way as a pillow went flying past, "Oh, come on! You know it's true!"

"I ain't gonna argue. An' from now on, we're gonna to do this together, right? No matter what."

"No matter what."

"Great, 'cause I wasn't really lookin' forward to drivin' all that way in the dark," he said, with some relief, "But I still gotta know...where did you hide the keys?"

"You promise you're not going to just take them and run?" I said, suddenly serious, "Really promise?"

"I'll pinky promise if you want! I...still ain't sure what we're going to do about Keame, but you're right; jus' killing him'd create more problems."

"That's what Vi was implying. She offered to kill him for me, but she was making it pretty clear it was the wrong choice. Martyring Simon was bad enough, but Keame as well?"

"I know, I know!" he protested, "You don't need to labour the point. Anyway, the keys?"

"Oh, right. Well…" I paused for dramatic effect, and then said, "They're in your sackbag."

"They're what?" he turned his shout into a cough, "You mean I had them the whole time?"

"Sure," I said, "I told you I can read you like a book."

"When? How?"

"After you'd packed everything away I just slipped 'em in. I was pretty sure it'd be the last place you'd think to check."

"But...the bookcase? You said I was getting warmer!"

"You were getting warmer," I said, "Isn't the bag on the other side of that wall?"

Clint stared at me for a long moment, and then suddenly burst out laughing.

"That's brilliant, Laura, an' so damn devious!" he said, wiping away a tear, "I'm sure Nat'd be proud."

"I hope so. Are you coming to bed?"

"I'll be right up behind you," he promised, "Let's see what tomorrow brings, right-"

There was a loud, angry buzzing from the hall, and Clint's smile turned immediately to a frown.

"That's my phone," he said, puzzled, "Who the hell's callin' me at this hour?"

"I don't know," I said, and felt a sudden thrill of anxiety, "Maybe it's someone over on the West Coast? Could've forgotten about the time difference."

"Don't know anyone on the West Coast," he said, "'Least, nobody who'd be wantin' to ring me on a Saturday night. Hold on-"

He got quickly to his feet and vanished into the hallway. There was a subtle rustling of a coat, and then a quiet 'beep' as he picked up.

"Clint Barton here- Fury?" he said, and the anxiety in my stomach suddenly kicked up a notch, "What're you calling me for? It's-"

There was a pause, and then he poked his head around the corner and mouthed the word 'Fury!'. I nodded, worriedly.

"Yeah, I'm at home. Where else would I- yeah, I'm looking right at her," he sounded confused, "An' they're upstairs! Fury, what's goin' on?"

There was a longer pause, and I saw the colour suddenly drain from Clint's face.

"No way," he said quietly, "That ain't possible- but-...no-...okay, yes. We'll be careful. Don't worry. Yeah, we'll, uh, talk tomorrow."

He terminated the call and then stood there staring dazedly, first at his phone, and then me.

"No way," he murmured eventually, "No way…"

"What is it, Clint?" I asked, coming quickly to my feet, "What's going on?"

"Fury…" he began in uncertain tones, "Fury just rang to say that...um, Missouri police radio's gone wild. Apparently, someone's hit Blacknest's new headquarters an' carved up about a dozen people. Cleaner discovered the mess when she turned up for work."

"My god," I said, "Did they know who it was?"

"No," he said, as he walked unsteadily across the carpet towards me, "The security footage was destroyed an' nobody nearby heard a thing. Whoever did it was so quick the mercs didn't even have a chance to grab their weapons, but...based on the condition of the bodies, the histories of the victims, an' the speed-"

"-oh no. You're not saying-"

"-yeah. They think it's Ronin."