Rumours were rampant in New York City. From the giant Christmas tree strewn across the ice to the wreckage at the toy shop, fuel for gossip was plentiful. As the stories spread, the tales got wilder and wilder. Two blocks away, tourists were swearing that Iron Man had made an appearance back from the dead. Ten blocks away, word was that shape-shifting aliens had invaded the Earth, disguised in bright red tracksuits.
But one woman would hear the truth straight from the horse's mouth.
As Christmas Day drew to a close, the children and Kate were asleep in the living room, exhausted from the day's merriment. Warm lamps lit up the porch with a soft glow and Laura passed a cup of tea to her husband, warming her hands with another.
Clint took the cup gracefully, leaning forwards in his seat to take a sip. He sighed appreciatively.
"You ready to talk?"
Clint nodded. Laura sat down beside him and took one of his hands in her own.
He talked for hours. The stars shimmered bright above him as lazy clouds drifted across the moon. By the time he was finished, his mug was empty and his voice was hoarse. Laura's eyes were as bright as the stars above them.
"Oh, Clint," she whispered. She laid a hand on his cheek and leaned forward to kiss him gently, her arms sliding around him as she reached up to stroke his hair.
"I miss her so much, Laura. Especially at Christmas," Clint murmured into her shoulder, his voice cracking.
"I know," Laura said with a sigh. "Me too." She paused, pulling back to look him in the eye. "But you know what I think?"
"Tell me."
"I think that there's a reason you whistled. You were completely disoriented and in serious pain-"
"-I've had worse," Clint interrupted, but Laura held up a hand for silence.
"My point is you weren't thinking. Yet some instinct led you to do Nat's whistle." Laura took a breath, then said, "Clint, Natasha was alive in you last night. Every day you remember her and you do your best to honour her memory. Clint, Natasha's not gone. She lives in you."
Clint's cheeks were damp but he ignored them. Laura's words were like a candle in a moonless night. She was right - he hadn't been thinking straight when Yelena was whacking him with her baton with all the rage of a grieving sister. He had barely been able to keep his hands up to protect his head. But something inside him had stirred as he lay helplessly on the ice. It had been Natasha's whistle. Natasha was still saving his life even from beyond the grave.
"She lives in Yelena too," Laura continued. Clint hid a smile. Only Laura could foster such kind feelings towards the woman who had almost killed her beloved husband. "You said so yourself - you thought she was Nat that first night on the rooftop."
Clint nodded. "She is so much like Natasha. Certainly equally stubborn. Just as a good a fighter."
"Fiercely protective of those she loves, it seems," Laura continued. "She really sounds like Nat, doesn't she? You know," Laura paused, pondering for a moment, then said, "we really ought to have her over for dinner some time."
Clint actually did smile this time. "I'll have Kate invite her," he said, "Somehow they seem to be best buddies." He shook his head a little in absolute incomprehension, then shrugged.
"Good idea," Laura agreed.
They sat in silence for a moment longer, gazing out at the pitch black sky. Then, all of a sudden, they both decided that the cold was too frigid and that it was time for bed. Without a word, Laura collected the mugs and Clint switched off the outdoor lamps. He laid an arm over her shoulders and together, they went back into their home.
