Laura treaded quickly into the kitchen, path leading straight to the stove, and Cassandra was not far behind. Clint closed the front door after taking a step inside and stood still as his eyes scanned the living area and front half of the kitchen. The children were nowhere to be seen.

They had sat both Cooper and Lila down nights prior, breaking the news to them that they had an aunt coming to visit the coming weekend. Clint explained that this aunt was different from Auntie Nat. Though, there was only so much preparing you could do. So, Clint left his wife and sister to converse and went to find the kids, in an effort to give one last talk—an etiquette reminder.

Laura poured water into a ceramic mug on the counter, a single stream of heat dancing toward the ceiling. "I wasn't sure what kind you'd like, so I got whatever the store had," her voice was apologetic, offering a nervous-sounding chuckle. "There's earl grey, chamomile, jasmine, and I think I got some kind of citrus flavor."

Cassandra smiled politely, sitting in a chair at the dining table a few feet away, "Jasmine's fine. But I'm not picky."

"Oh, alright. So, what do you do for a living?"

Laura opened a jasmine tea packet and dropped the bag of crushed leaves into the steaming mug, then carried the mug across the kitchen. She held it out to Cassandra as she answered. "I'm a florist," she replied, taking the mug with a nod of thanks.

"Really? Is that something you always planned on doing or did things just happen that way?" Laura inquired. She pulled out an adjacent chair and lowered herself into it. There was another mug there, its contents cool now from sitting untouched for too long, but she didn't mind.

"Um, it just happened," Cassandra shrugged one shoulder. "I've always enjoyed working with flowers, but I didn't think I would make a career out of it."

Laura nodded thoughtfully and took a sip from her mug. As she lifted it to her lips, Cassandra's eyes fell to her own, steam still streaming up from the liquid. She reached out a hand and looped the tea bag's string around her index finger, then tugged on it gently to force the tea to mix and reveal it's true color.

It was calm, sitting there, but it also felt incredibly out of place. As though she'd gone to the home of a somewhat estranged relative. They were polite and cordial, however there was only so much small talk to be had before it ran out, leaving the pair in a quiet moment of awkwardness.

Although, Cassandra appeared to be the only one who felt awkward about it. Laura was confident, extroverted, and she clearly wanted to show she was interested in Cassandra as a person. She was Cassandra's opposite. Knowing that added an ounce of anxiety to her gut, as she continued to bob the tea bag inside her mug.

It was then that rushed footsteps sounded on the wooden stairs, but they were light—the children, she knew. Her heart began to beat a little fast as she twisted quickly in her chair, turning just in time to see Clint walk into the living area with a young boy at his side and an even younger little girl in his arms.

The boy—Cooper, as she remembered—looked almost like a smaller version of his father. Cassandra's head tilted ever so slightly, the sweet thought warming her chest. "Cass, these are the kids-" Clint said, glancing down to make sure Cooper was still at his side. "-Cooper, and Lila. Guys, this is Cassandra."

"You're Aunt Cassie?" Cooper asked, a bit timid as he took slow steps into the kitchen.

Cassandra nodded and gave a small smile, "Yeah, that's me. It's so nice to finally meet you."

"Dad said you have superpowers. Is that true?"

Cooper's wording forced a chuckle to bubble out of Cassandra's throat. Her abilities hadn't been called superpowers. They were just that—abilities. Most people called them a sickness, or a curse, and some even said they were a punishment for sin. But she decided then that she liked this description best.

"Oh, honey-" Laura quickly set down her mug.

"It's okay," Cassandra interrupted, with a shake of her head. It earned a surprised look from Laura, and she could feel Clint's eyes on her, but Cassandra only looked at Cooper. "That's right. Wanna see a magic trick?"

"What kind of trick?" Cooper was intrigued, coming even closer.

Clint carried Lila to the kitchen before setting her down on her feet on the tile, and his eyes moved to Laura's in a quick expression of disguised worry. He knew Cassandra wouldn't do anything to hurt either of the kids. Clint was only worried the kids might react in a negative way, even going so far as to becoming afraid.

Though, Cooper was excited, like a dog with its ears pricked up at the sight of a bone as Cassandra stood from her chair. "I'm gonna disappear," she told the boy. "But you have to say the magic word. Know what that is?"

He nodded once, beaming, "Abracadabra."

The second the word had left the child's mouth, Cassandra's form vanished in a sudden cloud of purple smoke. It dissipated just as fast as it had materialized. Laura blinked and looked up at Clint but he was grinning. He could feel Cassandra at his back, standing behind him. Cooper walked through the remainder of faint purple in the air, across the space Cassandra had just been standing, with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

"Where is she?" Lila asked, walking toward her brother.

Cooper looked quickly between his parents, "Where did she go?"

Cassandra fought a genuine smile despite the gentle tremble of her hands. For a brief moment, it felt like being at the school—but one of the only good parts. The children played pranks on each other all the time, though usually the tricks were done within the same group every time.

They played individual pranks—pranking each other in week-long wars across the estate—and sometimes even pranked others together, as a group. Cassandra had used the mischief to cope in the beginning of her stay. But, then, she continued because of the friends she'd made.

Now, she stood two steps behind Clint at the start of the kitchen, waiting. After a moment, she moved out from her hiding place in a wide, sweeping step and held out her arms at her sides. "Ta-da!"

Cooper and Lila startled, Lila's small frame jolting from a gasp, but the surprise turned quickly into awe. Then, even further—excitement. Something youthful within Cassandra's chest was also excited. Though, it ran much deeper than that. It wasn't so much the ideal reception of her 'trick' as it was the thought of acceptance.

Clint smiled, seeing the overly positive reaction from the kids. Cooper was begging Cassandra to do it again and Lila had begun clapping with the speed and accuracy of a hyper toddler. "Again?" Cassandra asked, looking down at Cooper.

"Yeah! Do it again, pleeeeease!" he bounced on his feet.

Cassandra found herself laughing again—that unplanned, uncontrolled laugh. But she agreed, giving into his demands. "Okay, one more. But you have to say the word again."

Cooper all but shouted, "Abracadabra!"

And she disappeared a second time, the purple smoke a brief haze in the air where she once stood. Silence fell over the children as they began to look around. "Well, go on, guys," Laura gestured toward the living area. "Go find her."

Cooper sprinted into the living area, diving behind and under every piece of furniture before quickly moving to the next room and Lila toddled after him. Clint shook his head with a chuckle as he walked to the table. When he sat in the chair beside Cassandra's, Laura sat back in her seat.

"I think it's safe to say they love her," she said, with a pleasantly surprised smile as she signed her words. Then, she took another drink from her mug.

Clint nodded, "Yeah, I think so, too."

"How did she end up being the only one out of the three of you with abilities?" Laura was thinking out loud, mostly, but it was a question Clint had asked himself many times in years prior.

"I have no idea," he shook his head. "Gotta say, I'm happy with the abilities I've got."

The table shook gentle as a sudden breeze pushed out from Cassandra's chair, smoke engulfing the furniture. It faded away quickly, leaving Cassandra there, sitting on the seat as though she never left. "Are they still upstairs?" she asked Laura, the one closest to her immediate position.

"Um-" Laura leaned out of her chair to see, squinting a moment before sitting upright once again. "I think so."

Cassandra nodded once before taking a quick sip of her tea. "They're not too much, are they? We can tell them to cool it for a while," Clint offered.

"No, no- they're great," she twisted in her chair to see him, a smile burning creases into her cheeks. Then, footsteps on the stairs. "Oh, I gotta go. Hold on."

Purple smoke and spark replaced her as Cooper darted into the living area from the stairs. He ran into the kitchen, his chest heaving, and he checked under the table first. "Did you see her? Was she down here?" he questioned his parents quickly.

Laura hummed innocently, "I don't think so, honey. Maybe she's still upstairs?"

Clint stifled a chuckle and scrubbed a hand over his face as Cooper backed out from beneath the table. He climbed to his feet and ran away again, headed straight for the stairs. The sounds of his footsteps echoed until he reached the top. Cassandra could hear them from where she stood inside a closet.

She planned to let them find her, but she wanted to give them a good chase first—she wanted them to feel like they worked for it. Cooper certainly was. Lila, however, had gotten distracted when looking in her room. She sat on her floor, playing with the toys she'd left out when Clint came to tell her he was home, adding to the world she'd created for her dolls and their friends.

Cassandra could see Cooper through the cracked closet door. He hurried into the room and slowed, sneaking around to look under the bed, in the bathroom, even behind the dresser. Finally, she pounced. The door swung open and she slid out of the closet, the action alone startling Cooper enough to gain his attention. "Looking for me?" she patronized him playfully, closing the closet door behind her.

He made a grumbling sound of defeat and sighed heavily, "I was just about to check there!"

"Sorry, I guess I beat you to it. You got real close, though," she took steps toward him. "Maybe next time? Come on, let's go find your sister."


Carefully, Cassandra poured the contents of a stew pot into a strainer in the sink, softened, peeled potatoes dropping unceremoniously into the hot water draining onto them with a splat. The steam from the previously boiling water fanned upward and she leaned back, moving her face out of its path. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to put you to work," Laura apologized, scrunching up her nose at the sight.

"Oh, that's okay," Cassandra shook her head and placed the now empty pot back on the stove. "I don't mind—it gives me something to do."

It was a slippery slope when helping out in a kitchen. Clint had gone outside to barbecue steaks and Laura started preparing things inside, so it only felt natural to ask if there was anything she could help with. Getting out ingredients turned into starting the boiling water then became being in charge of the mashed potatoes.

But Cassandra truly didn't mind—she wasn't a master chef, though she did enjoy being in the kitchen, and it gave her a way to keep busy. She feared that if she sat still for too long, she would get nervous again. Even now, the anxiousness lingered on her skin like cheap perfume, as she focused on her task.

"Do you do a lot of cooking at home?" Laura asked, a bit rhetorically.

"Not a lot of cooking, but I know my way around a kitchen," she dumped the potatoes into a large bowl and began squashing them together with a masher and a few chunks of softened butter. "I usually just keep things light or eat out. I don't really need to make a whole meal if Ben's not around."

"Is Ben your boyfriend?"

Laura's uncertain voice caused Cassandra's arms to still with a shudder. She'd been focused enough on her hands that she paid no attention to her mind—or her mouth. It was a miracle, she knew, that she'd used the fake name and not his real one as it was. Cassandra exhaled and forced her hands to move. "Yeah. I mean, we haven't put a label on it or anything, but- yeah."

"Oh. How long have you been together?"

The way she asked the questions was timid and cautious, audibly afraid to cross an invisible line she feared was somewhere near her feet, but it sounded so motherly. Cassandra couldn't help but feel compelled to answer them, despite a deep-seated urge to divert the conversation.

"Almost a year, off and on. I've known him for two, though," she replied, willing calmness and confidence into her voice.

Laura brought cups down from a cupboard before reaching into one of the lower ones for a pitcher, setting all items on the counter. "Well, it's nice that you have someone," she said. "Now, I don't mean to sound ignorant—but the proper term for someone with abilities like you is 'mutant', right?"

Cassandra hummed, "Yeah, that's right."

"Do all mutants look like regular people, or is there a way to tell the difference?"

She paused, her hand on the salt shaker, and glanced over at Laura. What could she need that information for? Did the question go beyond smalltalk? But, then, it hit her—the children. Laura wanted to know how to tell for the sake of the children, to know if one of them was a mutant like Cassandra.

The thought relaxed her shoulders a bit, but she remained still. "I can't say there's a telltale sign. Our powers typically show up at puberty," Cassandra explained. "I was an early bird, and the mutant gene is carried through the males, so...just keep an eye out."

Laura's features gave her away, the casual facade fading the moment Cassandra finished, and she exhaled. "I'm sorry- I don't mean to sound like I'm against the idea. I'm not," she hurried to clarify. "I just don't know what to expect—this is all so sudden. I had no idea about this part of Clint's family."

"It's okay, I understand. It can be a big adjustment. My parents handled it by sending me to an all-mutant school in New York."

"Oh, I didn't know there was such a thing."

"They don't advertise too much anymore," Cassandra busied herself again, shaking some salt onto the mashed heap of potatoes in front of her. "It's a safety thing."

Laura's eyebrows rose in surprise, "Because people will hurt the children?"

Cassandra nodded and Laura placed a hand on her chest, turning her horror-stricken eyes back to the pitcher on the counter. "It's still the safest option for most mutants, though. There are some pretty powerful adults protecting the place," Cassandra assured, before reaching for the pepper.

It was then that Clint entered the house through the back door, carrying a plate of cooked steaks to the dinner table. His arrival held back a wave of possible questions and comments from Laura. Instead, she called for the kids and instructed them to set the table, then moved to the oven to check on her rolls.

Clint, however, stood by the table as Cooper rushed into the dining area, eyes shifting between his wife and sister. He could tell he'd interrupted something, but there wasn't enough body language left to decipher just what it was. As he went to the cupboard for dinner plates, he kept an eye on it. Another of his fears bringing Cassandra here was that she wouldn't get along with Laura.

If that's what was starting to happen, he needed to know as soon as possible, that way he might have a chance to fix it. Though, with the bare minimum he was seeing, he wasn't sure if he would know at all. Cooper put out silverware and Clint held up Lila while she placed the plates at each chair. Laura made iced tea in the pitcher while Cassandra finished the potatoes, and they were soon ready to sit.

It had been a very long time since Cassandra sat at a table and ate dinner with friends or family. She'd almost forgotten what it was like to laugh, enjoy the company. Clint smiled through dinner, never once letting up—the sight of his family all together enough to keep the warmth in his chest kindled. Though, both Barton siblings felt the emptiness of the sixth chair at the table.

There was just enough room for one more. Both at the table, and in their hearts. However, neither of them had spoken to their brother in years, and reconnecting to this extent would take many more. Clint hadn't been contacted since that fateful day when Barney erupted with anger and walked out—physically and metaphorically. But Cassandra kept calling.

Every other week or so, he would pick up, let her know he was still alive. Then there would be more anxious radio silence until the next answered call. Until three months later, when he stopped picking up entirely. The number had been disconnected and he didn't reach out to give her a new one, so she was forced to accept that he'd shut her out as well.

After dinner, Clint washed the dishes and Cassandra stood beside the sink with a towel to dry them while Laura took the kids upstairs to get ready for bed. She was quiet, drying off the plate in her hands, thoughts of that last missing piece swirling around the confines of her mind in a mixture of anxiety and grief. It was only a moment longer before Clint cleared his throat, drawing her gaze.

"You okay?" he asked, pausing his task to find her eyes. "You seem a little distant."

Cassandra sighed and placed the cleaned plate onto the counter beside the sink, freeing her hands to reply. "Just tired. Being social wears me out."

"Hm. I don't buy it."

Her features contorted, giving him an expression he recognized—you're ridiculous. He shrugged and continued washing the dishes, handing her another plate as he stuck to his guns on the subject. Cassandra took the dish and began drying it, but she found herself stopping, reaching up a hand to get Clint's attention.

"I miss him. Barney," her admittance came with a certain tone of sadness. "I wish he could be a part of this, you know? I don't...I don't even know where he is now."

Clint exhaled, his shoulders slumped with the weight of the bittersweet sentiment behind her words. "I know. I wish he was here, too. But he made his choice a long time ago."

"Did he?"

He stared into her eyes for a quiet moment. They held enough guilt and hurt for the both of them, loud enough even he could hear, the sound taking the form of a pain in the left side of his chest. Cassandra was always questioning—did we do enough?—and Clint thought he knew the answer. Now, he wasn't sure he wanted to know either way.

Cassandra had all but begged Barney to come around, to keep trying, but it always came back to Clint and his disappointment. Of course, Clint was just as helpless to stop Barney's spiral as Barney was. But the perceived grievances did nothing but drive them further apart. In trying to patch that relationship, Barney felt Cassandra picked a side, and it wasn't his.

Barney loved his sister—so much more than he cared for himself—but she was lost to him in his mind, and it wasn't long before that sentiment reached his heart. So, he severed all ties with the both of them to start over. Little did he know that doing so would set Cassandra and Clint on the right path to reconnect so many years later.


Sleep came quickly and, when it hit, it hit hard. There were no dreams—only a flash of black before light flooded back in. A dull ache throbbed at the base of her skull, her eyelids illuminated red as the sunlight heated her cheeks through the glass of her window. But it wasn't her window. No, it was Clint's.

Every muscle in her body tensed in a jolt, forcing her body upright with her eyes snapping open as the thought touched her groggy mind. Her tired, blue irises shifted slowly across the small guest room she'd fallen asleep in. Her duffel remained perched on the foot of the bed.

The bedspread beneath her was barely creased from her weight, as she hadn't even slid beneath the covers before sleep overcame her. Everything was in its place, untouched, but the density of her head urged her to double check. Though, she wasn't even aware what time it was. Enough sun poured through the window to give her a vague idea.

Carefully, she swung both legs over the edge and pushed herself off the bed. Her toes touched the frozen wood flooring and jerked, her bare feet briefly pulling away as a chill ran up her spine, forcing out a hiss of surprise from between her teeth. Mornings were chilly in the city, but this was a whole new level—especially considering her habit of turning on the heat.

Once more, she pushed herself down, forcing her feet to fully connect with the wood. She stepped to the end of the bed and dug through her duffel for a new shirt, before taking it and her toiletry bag to the bathroom. Dropping the bag on the counter beside the sink, she placed her folded shirt on the closed toilet lid and began to disrobe.

She wasn't truly, but it felt like she was peeling every item away from her skin after sleeping so deeply in them. The first spurt of water from the shower head was cold, covering her body in bumps as she shuffled away from it in a startle. But then the water began to spray warm and she moved beneath them, allowing it to run over her skin, heating up her tense muscles.

She tipped her head back and the water poured over her face, doing its best to wash away the feeling of incomplete rest. As she soaped and scrubbed and rinsed, she kept her mind blank in an effort to remain in the present, thoughts of the past still lingering in the morning. They threatened to take her back again, their weight worsening the throb in her skull.

When she was done, she turned off the water and stepped out, wrapping herself in the towel hung beside the shower before moving to the sink. Her fingers unpacked the toothbrush and paste and set them on the other side of the sink and then reached for her hairbrush. However, the mirror was fogged from her use of hot water.

So, she leaned over the sink to wipe her hand across the mirror, clearing whatever space she could reach. The second her hand crossed the glass, a face not her own was revealed, and her body reacted with a violent startle. Her feet shuffled backward, shoulder blades thudding against the bathroom wall. But even her wide eyes, blown with sudden adrenaline, could see the immediate familiarity of the features. It was Charles.

The illusion of him, at least. It looked as though he stood beside her at the sink but he wasn't, the space beside her still rather empty. Cassandra's chest heaved heavily, quickly as she stared him down with narrowed eyes. "What the fuck, Charles?" she all but growled, stepping closer to the mirror.

Professor Xavier's visage reflected in the glass. A projection, she knew—but an incredibly unwelcome one. "I'm terribly sorry for the interruption," his features were apologetic, but determined. "Though, I'm afraid, very necessary. It's best that I explain everything in person. I know that's a lot to ask of you-"

"You want me to come back? Right now?"

Cassandra's eyebrows jerked upward, her jaw fallen with shock and frustration as she stared at him in the mirror. "Please," he nodded, again apologetic. She had wondered just what he'd been keeping from her, but this was not at all how she wanted to find out. Of course, she could put on some clothes and teleport into Charles' office in the blink of an eye.

The question, however, wasn't if she could or how easy it would be. It was, should she? Should she really jeopardize this time, this happiness, for information with a high likelihood of leading to another mission? No. No, she shouldn't. She knew that in her bones, yet still she felt something tugging her at the surface level.

"I'll leave you to get dressed," Charles said. "If you decide to accept, you know where to find me."

He faded quickly from the glass, disappearing entirely. Instinctively, Cassandra dropped her towel and reached for her undergarments, pulling them on as quickly as her shaky hands could manage. She felt offense, anger at the idea that he would ask. Yet, at the same time, intrigue and—beneath it all—relief.

That was the most terrifying part. She felt relieved to be asked to come back, even if just for information. After all this time, she still hadn't shaken that all-encompassing need for approval, for validation from the professor and her peers. Her team. Why would he ask her back if he didn't need her?

It's a dangerous thing to be needed when the ones who need you are the ones who suffocate you. The rush was like a drug and, after almost seven years sober, it hit her veins harder than she anticipated. She put on her clothes and used her towel to dry her hair, furiously rubbing the cloth over her head and patting it down.

The brown, worn strands were still damp when she decided her time had run out, but she didn't care too much about her appearance. She pattered on her bare feet to the nightstand where she'd left her phone the night before. A thumb press to the center button revealed the clock—8:23AM. Behind it, her lockscreen photo.

The picture hadn't been changed since before leaving the school. It was one of the things she'd gotten lazy about, opting to leave it untouched in the name of indecision. Though, she couldn't deny the twinge in her chest every time her eyes caught sight of it. It was a sweet photo.

A much younger Cassandra, her graduation certificate in her hands, and a tall redhead with her arms wrapped around the young version's shoulders. Jean. She was arguably one of Cassandra's favorite teachers, but she was an even closer friend, until that retched, horrid day. The day Jean was taken from them all.

What are you doing? she asked herself, prying her eyes from the phone screen with a heavy, angry sigh. Seeing Jean again only reminded her of that sacrifice. The painful memory dug a crude knife into the small of her back, but it brought enough guilt with it to turn her stomach sour.

It was then she made up her mind. And, against the wailing of her better judgement, she disappeared in that cloud of smoke. Regret sunk into her chest as the purple brought her steps from the front door of the school. Then, anger. Anger for being asked and put in this position, anger at the guilt, at herself. But it was the anger that pushed her forward, right through the heavy wooden doors.