I'm outside.

The text message was sent with trembling hands and blurred vision—it was a wonder it wasn't fraught with typos or saying something else entirely. Cassandra shoved her phone into the back pocket of her jeans and adjusted the duffel bag strap on her shoulder. This wasn't exactly how she wanted to make her return. But, emotionally, it felt like emergency circumstances. She hadn't planned on staying out so late with Scott or having her world shattered by Charles.

The events of daylight hours had set her back farther into the night than she desired, and now she would simply have to apologize for the late hour, just as Charles did minutes prior. It was only a moment of quiet darkness before the living room light flicked on. Then, the front door pulled open, revealing the hazy appearance of Clint through the screen door. "Cass, what happened?" he asked, the grogginess of his features contrasting the alert and concerned sound of his voice.

He stepped out onto the deck, careful to hold the screen door as it closed. Cassandra sniffled hard as she started walking toward the porch steps. In vain, she rubbed the sleeve of her sweater over her cheek in an attempt to dry up some of the tears that continued to fall involuntarily—a result of reaching her breaking point. "I'm- I'm really sorry," she shook her head, guilt coloring every feature on her face as her hands worked to sign her words. "I was gonna call...things just got out of hand. I can't stay there, Clint. I can't- I can't stay there."

Clint's paternal instincts were quite literally on fire, a burning in his chest steaming at the sight of his little sister so distraught. As she reached the top of the steps, he moved forward and wrapped his arms around her shaky frame, pulling her in for a tight but warm hug. And Cassandra weakly reciprocated, the love—as small a jolt as it was—from being so quickly embraced, all things considered, pushing a new surge of tears through her eyes. A whimper was stifled by the front of his shoulder as she squeezed her eyes closed.

A soft whine of hinges pulled them open only a second later and she leaned her head back from Clint's torso as Laura appeared on the porch. She stepped around Clint from behind, having just exited the house, in a robe with a blue flannel pattern. "Oh, sweetheart," Laura's eyes drooped at the sight of her sister-in-law's emotional state, her tone a specific kind of empathetic only a mother could possess. She reached up a hand and placed it on Cassandra's shoulder blades, rubbing soothingly over the tense muscles.

"I'm sorry it's so late," Cassandra mumbled through a second apology.

Clint shifted his stance to better see both women while keeping an arm around Cassandra, and Laura quickly shook her head. "No, don't worry about that, okay?" she replied, her hand coming to rest atop Cassandra's shoulder. "You're always welcome here. Let's get you inside—you want some tea? Hot chocolate?"

Cassandra couldn't help but chuckle briefly at her instantaneous motherly attitude, the sound bubbling up her throat as she once again scrubbed at her soaked cheeks, and it acted as a good sign to both Laura and Clint. "Um, yeah, tea sounds great. Thanks."

Laura nodded before tipping her head toward the front door as a gesture to Clint, as she slid her arm around Cassandra's shoulders and effectively scooped her away from Clint to lead her toward the door. Clint didn't mind—he was simply relieved that his wife wasn't upset about his sister's untimely arrival. He'd woken her up just seconds after the text arrived within his phone, the vibration rattling the bedside table, and gave a quick explanation for his exit.

He left the bedroom swiftly, without taking so much as a moment to put on his bathrobe. Laura was slightly disoriented from the sudden awakening, but she got out of bed and pulled her robe over her shoulders before taking to the stairs a beat or two after him, in case she was needed. That, and she genuinely did worry for Cassandra. It sounded as though whatever happened must've been terrible by the way he'd reacted. And although a re-broken heart was certainly awful, she was relieved it wasn't something worse.

Laura guided her inside, and Cassandra was thankful for the caring acts. After all, she'd only met Laura once and didn't expect nearly this kind of warm welcome and acceptance into the home. But she spoke kindly as she moved into the kitchen to heat water—going for the microwave for sake of time—and Cassandra eased herself into a dining chair. Clint was once again careful in shutting the door behind him as he reentered the house behind them.

The last thing any of them needed just then was a rush of children down the stairs. He continued into the house and through to the kitchen area, before lowering himself into the chair to Cassandra's left. "Are you gonna tell me what happened or do I need to go there and beat some people down for information?" he asked her, a lighthearted yet partly serious question to get her talking.

Cassandra sighed, her breath trembling gently in her lungs, and she began to wring her hands where they rested on her lap. "A lot of shit went down today. Yesterday, technically," she shrugged up one shoulder, giving a small and brief roll of her eyes at her own correction, but it was compulsory. Her mind's attempt at making herself laugh, at distracting from her heartache. "Tony Stark had a meeting with the professor. Then the rest of us got the privilege of listening to his sales pitch."

"Sales pitch?" Clint raised a brow.

"He wanted us to work for him as lab rats so he could improve his tech, 'defense or medical'—his own words. It was egregious so I gave him a nose bleed. The professor, I guess, blackmailed him into keeping his mouth shut about it."

Clint sat forward in his seat, forearms coming to rest atop the table in front of him, and his features were serious. "What's he got on Stark?"

"Stark Industries is building sentinels for the government. New and improved, I'm sure. I've confronted him multiple times and he always lies about it—but I swear, when I asked him what was in the warehouse, it was like he knew I had legitimate intel," Cassandra explained, before a hefty sniffle. "He knows I'm not bullshitting, because I have proof, but now it's no good unless I wanna go to jail."

"Couldn't you plead self-defense?" Laura inquired, coming to sit at the table. She placed a steaming mug in front of Cassandra before sitting across from Clint, to Cassandra's right. Cassandra mumbled a 'thank you' as she gingerly tugged the mug a little closer, turning it to better access the handle.

She shook her head. "I could try, but he'd demolish me with his lawyers. He'd make an example out of me. He doesn't want justice, he wants a spectacle. A circus."

Clint reached across the space between them then and placed his hand atop hers, drawing her eyes back to his from Laura. "If you choose to go after him and release whatever proof you have, I can get you a lawyer—probably better than Stark's. He's based right out of the city, too. But if we can get Barney to take your case with the task force, we can spin it our way, and we can win. We've got your back, Cass."

Cassandra's eyes glossed over with a thin layer of water and she looked down at the wood of the table. If anything, the movement downward only caused the new wave of tears to trickle out much quicker. She sniffled again and lifted a hand to swipe at the skin beneath her eyes before exhaling. "Thank you. That's only part of what happened yesterday," she admitted, quietly, as she lifted her head to look at her brother.

Clint's fingers wrapped around her hand and gave a comforting squeeze. "The rest of it's what brought you here, isn't it?"

All she could do was nod, her lips curling and eyebrow knitting as her eyes flitted upward, toward the ceiling. Fresh water trailed her cheeks as she could feel the burning in her throat resume, the lump reforming—if it had even truly gone away before. Laura's head tilted as her features sank sympathetically. Her heart ached for the girl. Clint had told her, years into their relationship, what kind of childhood he and his siblings had. So, she was well aware that all three of them carried a heavy load.

But this was so fresh, so raw. It made her question if she truly wanted to know what was so bad as to cause this kind of reaction in her. Cassandra fought desperately to rein herself in, to calm down even just enough to speak clearly, but the thought of what she would need to say aloud only pained her further. It only worsened the creases of her face, thickening the droplets racing along her skin. She took in a deep breath and curled the fingers of her free hand into the hem of her sweater.

Once she got it out, she knew, she would feel better. She would receive appropriate comfort and advice and warmth—and it would not be a cure, but it would feel better. So much better. It was just getting past her throat that was proving to be difficult. "The professor's a telepath. A pretty powerful one," she began, explaining extra details for the sake of Laura, who nodded slowly as her eyebrows lifted in surprise. "He was trying to help when Loki…."

Cassandra braced her elbow against the table, her free hand slapping against her face to cover her eyes as a surge of emotion forced out a small sob, and she stifled it as best as she could. Not only for the sake of not waking the children upstairs, but for herself. "Hey, it's okay, you don't have to talk about this tonight," Clint spoke gently, switching hands out to rub a palm across her shoulder blades.

She shook her head, sniffling it as she removed her hand, allowing it to fall to the tabletop where it trembled. "No, no, it's fine. He did some poking around inside Loki's head and, um, it turns out that Loki was being controlled by the scepter like you were," she blurted it out, racing through the barest of details in order to rip off a proverbial bandage.

Clint's features slacked as he was taken aback by the news. His eyes shifted to Laura, but she was just as dumbfounded by the revelation. Cassandra's tear-clouded gazes darted between them both, subconsciously waiting for the backlash, for the questioning and the denial. But it didn't come. "Why are we only hearing about this now?" Clint questioned, turning back to her.

Cassandra again shook her head. "Because the professor is a boot-licking son of a bitch. He wanted to appease the government by giving them a bad guy to blame and punish. So, he let an innocent man take the fall—I mean, that's like if Fury decided to punish you for what you did while under that mind control. That wasn't you."

"Who was it?" Laura asked, almost ruefully—as though she were truly afraid to pose such a question.

"He wasn't able to see that part," Cassandra answered.

"So, I guess we just have to Google what kind of person it takes to mind control a god," Clint dryly mused. It was such a shock to his system, this information. He'd spent so long actively hating Loki and rejoicing in the assumption that he would be punished for his crimes on Asgard, for not only the crimes against New York and the world but against his own flesh and blood. But now it's revealed that Loki is just as much a victim as he was himself.

The man he vilified and violently despised was now in the very same boat Clint had been cast into. Although, it was also hard to swallow with a lack of physical evidence—or any evidence, really. All he had was the word of a telepath who clearly favored the government over his own kind. Cassandra's eyes unfocused as they aimed at a patch of table in front of her, slipping into dissociative thought as she nodded a little. It was easy to unfocus with such stress, such exhaustion.

"Do we know what happened after Thor took Loki home?" Laura asked the question gingerly, somewhat quietly, unsure if the subject might make the situation worse.

Clint's eyes flicked toward Cassandra, briefly. "No, no one knows," he shook his head as he answered for her, turning back to his wife across the table. "Thor said he'd face 'Asgardian justice'. Whatever that means. They seem pretty Game of Thrones, if you ask me."

Laura crossed her arms over her chest, closing her bathrobe more tightly. "So...there's nothing that can be done?"

"No way to get ahold of 'em," Clint shrugged up one shoulder with an empathetically saddened expression.

It was then that Cassandra seemingly sprung to life, lifting her head robotically like an animatronic as her eyes remained slightly unfocused, voice deepened from tears and a stuffy nose. "Thor has a girlfriend," she blurted, even but quiet in tone. "If Loki wasn't lying—Thor has a girlfriend here, on Earth. Jane something."

Clint's eyes were drawn to her from the sudden movement. His eyes had to work a little harder to keep track of her words with the stiffness of her jaw, but he understood the gist. "Jane Foster. She's an astrophysicist. S.H.I.E.L.D. relocated her when Loki was identified."

"Where?"

"No," Clint gave a firm shake of his head.

Cassandra pulled her hand away from his as she sat a little more forward in her seat, instead moving both hands to absentmindedly cup the mug still sitting on the table before her. Clint sat back in his seat, internally preparing for the earful he was sure to be given for the decision. "Clint, someone has to do something. If they're involved, maybe she knows how to get in touch?" Cassandra defended her inquiry, trying to keep her voice down for the sake of the children upstairs.

"Does it always have to be you?" Clint questioned her. "Do you always have to be 'the one'? You keep putting yourself out there, getting yourself into danger, and—god forbid—someday, it might catch up with you. When is it enough?"

Cassandra settled her shoulders. "When I can stomach sitting on my ass while innocent people I could've helped suffer."

Clint's head instinctively tilted. Unconscious subtext stung against his cheek like a backhanded swat. He knew—deep down—she didn't mean it that way, but it was so easy to let it flow there, so easy he almost let it smart. But he exhaled heavily as he looked to Laura. A silent call for backup. Laura was quick to clear her throat when prompted to speak, though unsure she truly sided with Clint on the issue. "Why don't you get some rest, let the shock wear off, and then think it over?" she suggested, turning to Cassandra.

It was a fairly neutral approach—the only one that wouldn't add fuel to the impending argument that kindled at the table. Cassandra's eyes fell to her untouched tea. Her hands still shook, rings rolling gently across the liquid as she unintentionally vibrated the cup, and the teabag had more than done its job. The tea was darker than she would've liked but she'd reached a point where it all felt insignificant. Nothing felt quite as important as this new information swirling like a dark cloud inside her mind.

"Yeah...alright," she was reluctant, but tiredly agreed. Then, she inhaled, sitting upright, "Sorry, again, for showing up like this-"

"Oh, no- don't apologize. Even when Clint's working, you're always welcome here," Laura assured her.

The warmth to her voice, the delicate ghost of a smile on her lips, threatened to swell the lump at the back of Cassandra's throat and she swallowed thickly. She was like a walking frayed nerve. Any gesture of care was enough to set her off, pressing a thumb into the open wound causing her sensitivity. Cassandra attempted a small smile, but it was weak and barely visible, the muscles in her cheeks trembling against the overuse of the day. "Thank you. I really do appreciate it. I'll be gone in a day or two, I just have to figure some things out."

"Stay as long as you need," Clint's voice pulled her eyes back toward his face cautiously, but she was put at ease by the genuine upward curve of his mouth. "I mean it. I won't have you out on the streets when we've got plenty of room."

Her lower lip quivered once and she scoffed quietly at herself. "I love you," the words came out of her mouth with a mumbling tremble, but Clint could see them before she leaned in, wrapping her arms around his neck and shoulders.

With a hand at the back of her head and another around her torso, he held her comfortably tight. "I love you, too."


There was no indication of time but the sun's rays gently streaming through the window when consciousness surged through her. It was like a rush of adrenaline, spiking in less than a second, and her eyes broke open. They'd been clamped shut throughout the remainder of the night. And, for the first night in several weeks, she slept. The lids felt like they'd been partially glued shut.

But they tore open, breaking the seal rather quickly. As she lifted her head from the trodden down pillow, her eyes narrowed in their attempt to focus on the small face before her, nearly at eye-level beside the bed. It was Lila. "Good morning, Aunty Cassie!" she smiled at Cassandra, beaming despite the nervous edge to her demeanor. She rocked on her small feet, fingers pinching the quilt where it hung off the edge of the bed. "Breakfast is ready."

"Oh- okay…thank you."

Cassandra lifted herself up on an elbow, using her free arm to reach up and scrub at her still-tired eyes. "Dad said you got here last night, but I didn't hear you," Lila pointed it out to Cassandra, her voice innocently adamant in her skepticism.

Cassandra chuckled faintly. "Well, that's because it was really late when I came in, so I was extra quiet—it would ruin the surprise."

"Surprise?"

Lila perked up at the word, voice upturning with her features, and Cassandra pushed herself fully upright. She carefully moved her legs off the edge of the bed, one at a time, as the muscles in each appendage protested. But Cassandra forced her lips up at the corners, attempting to mimic the positive expressions she'd used when here before. "I wanted to come visit you guys," she explained, nodding. "I'm going to be staying for a few days, so we can do all sorts of things together."

"We can play outside!" Lila quickly erupted.

"Yeah, we can play outside," Cassandra agreed.

It was then that the bedroom door nudged open further, easing its way toward the wall behind it as Clint stepped into the room. "Hey, mom said to wake her up and come back. Your pancakes are getting cold," he lightheartedly admonished Lila, and she turned to look up at him.

"Oops."

Clint huffed a chuckle. "Yeah, oops. Go on."

He gestured toward the door and Lila pattered out of the room, heading back toward the staircase. Cassandra exhaled heavily as she allowed her features to relax. It felt like such a struggle to maintain that shade of happiness for even such a short frame of time. How would she remain positive in front of the kids for the whole day? Every day after that? "How'd you sleep?" Clint asked her, taking a step further into the room.

Cassandra's eyes drifted toward him, and she found herself sighing. "Fine, I guess. I got in bed and blacked out."

"That's good. You need to rest more," he nodded. "I've got everything set up for loaded pancakes—I'll make you some fresh ones when you come down."

"Loaded?" Cassandra raised a brow in jest.

"Three kinds of syrup, chocolate chips, nuts, whipped cream, berries. All kinds of shit."

She chuckled—genuinely chuckled—and slowly nodded. "Alright. I'll straighten up quickly, then."

"See that you do," Clint joked, sidestepping toward the doorway. "I don't know how long I'm gonna be able to save some of this stuff for you. Cooper's on number four already."

With that, Clint gave one last small smile before dipping into the hall, pulling the bedroom door closed behind him. It shut with a hollow click that echoed in the quiet corners of the room. Cassandra absentmindedly reached for the bedside table, her cell phone dark where it remained plugged into a charger on top of it. She pulled the plug from the port and the screen lit up. Fourteen unread text messages. One unheard voicemail.

The notifications sat idly on the screen and she stared at them blankly. There was no sudden feeling of worry or even intrigue, having so many unanswered attempts at contact. They were all from Bobby and Kitty and Lori—but she had no desire to open even one. The voicemail was from Logan. Reading his name gave her chest a slight twinge, fading as quickly as it appeared. It was as though her nerves were all numb. They'd been burnt at the ends like a frayed shoelace and now they didn't quite work right.

She hadn't known what to expect from her own body when she fell asleep the night before. A part of her hoped she would feel better. That the pain would be gone and she'd realize that it was all an overreaction, and she would be able to think clearly moving forward. And although she did feel better, it was only due to a lack of feeling anything at all. Her mind was empty, blank as she slid her phone back onto the bedside table, before pushing off the bed to stand.

Her muscles ached—finally, she felt something when she should—and her balance felt the slightest bit off. But she took steps into the bathroom without concern for it. She washed her face with water in the sink and combed her hair with her fingers, barely taming the mess to a manageable state, and she found herself avoiding her own eyes in the mirror. The glass reflected back a person she couldn't quite forgive.

After all, she'd been relieved that Loki might be being held accountable for all his crimes. Now, the knowledge that the punishment was unjustified was bitter and painful but the memory of that relief made her stomach sick. She wrestled with herself over blame. Could she really fault herself for not knowing? Or, should she be harder on herself for not questioning longer? Was there anything she could've done to change this outcome? Within the dull throb at the left side of her chest, the answer to all these was yes. Irrevocably yes.

Once she'd managed to make herself look presentable in a new set of clothes, she left the bedroom to start the journey toward the kitchen. Halfway to the stairs, she could smell it all—warm pancakes, sickeningly sweet wisps of chocolate, and the unmistakable tang of a raspberry. It all swirled together, intensifying as she took to the stairs, and the walls of her stomach rattled. What she'd eaten yesterday had been burned clean through and, with all the energy she'd used up on that whirlwind of emotions the night before, she was starved.

Cassandra reached the bottom of the stairs and crossed into the living room, and Lila spotted her from her seat at the kitchen table. "Hi, Aunty Cassie," she greeted her seemingly absentminded, focusing on the disastrous mixture of things on her plate.

"Good morning, Aunt Cassie," Cooper piped up, around a mouthful, sitting to the left of Lila.

As Cassandra opened her mouth to reply, the beginnings of another fake smile at the corners of her lips, her eyes caught movement. It was a distinct shade of red. Agent Romanoff was in the kitchen, leaning her lower back against the counter as she clutched a steaming mug in her hand, the other arm folded under as it crossed her middle. She was near Clint, at the stove.

The realization was a bit startling. Natasha gave a polite, casual smile and a single nod. "Good morning," she acknowledged her.

"Morning," Cassandra was slow to speak, easing her way into the kitchen. "When did you get here?"

"I've been here a couple days, but I'm leaving this afternoon."

The idea that she was at the house last night and could've possibly heard what was said at the table at all hours of the night was unnerving. "How did you sleep? Would you like some coffee? Tea?" Laura stood up from the table, skirting around Cassandra to step toward the coffee pot on the counter.

"I slept alright," Cassandra shrugged halfheartedly. "Coffee is fine, thank you."

Clint twisted in his stance at the stove to look over his shoulder at Cassandra, then. "Hey, you want one or two? I can make more than that if you want."

"Um, two is good," she answered, with a small shake of her head.

Clint nodded and turned back to the stove, before reaching for the plate on the counter to his left. He scooped two pancakes from the stove onto the plate and reached into a drawer for silverware. The whole experience was jarring. Everything was so upbeat. So normal. Feeling like she did, it was almost alien. Clint turned once more and held out the plate in one hand, silverware in the other.

Cassandra took both with a nod in thanks and shifted on her feet. There was an unused seat opposite the kids, so she moved around the end of the table and set her things down in front of the chair. Laura came to the other side of the table with a steaming mug, then, and held it out to her. "We have cream and sugar, if you'd like," she said, offering the hot liquid.

"Both would be great, thank you," Cassandra replied, as she took possession of the mug.

Laura nodded and zipped to the fridge, pulling it open to sift through for the half and half. Cassandra eased herself into her claimed spot at the table with a quiet exhale and the kids erupted with sound. Cooper began with pointing out the various dishes of toppings between them, but Lila swiftly interrupted with her opinion on the best recipe. They argued playful over it, pointing out the best parts of their own creations. However, to Cassandra, both plates looked like a breakfast bomb had gone off.

Silently, Laura had placed the half and half and a small shaker of sugar on the table beside Cassandra, and Cassandra nodded her thanks before adding some of each to her mug. She listened to the children halfheartedly as she used her spoon to stir the liquid. All the sound was beginning to zone out, seeming more and more like an echo, eyes unfocusing on the caramel colored coffee.