Hello, again. I hope everyone's weekend is going well. There's a lot going on in this one, guys! We see more of the other Avengers, plus we get a lot of background on Clint. As always, a major thanks to: Kay1104, JohnnyStormsGirl, snowangl05, miller330, T, JustLyndsey, and Dasiygirl95. Your kind reviews always make me smile and keep me inspired! Also, T, thank you so much for pointing out the error with the dates in the last chapter. It was a typo I didn't catch, but I'm glad you did!

Hope you enjoy this chapter! Let me know what you think!

December 7th, 2016

Georgia stared pitifully at the Nikon in her hands. "I can't believe I'm about to do this."

December 8th, 2016

"If there were any moment for you to have that stupid video camera of yours," purred Natasha in her favorite condescending tone as she watched Tony and Thor with amused eyes. "…this would be it."

"What's going on?" asked Clint, who'd just arrived at Stark Tower for a short briefing on their upcoming mission before they headed out of the country.

"Tony thought it would be fun if he taught Thor how do to that gangman dance or whatever it's called," drawled Pepper Potts as she emerged from the kitchen with a tray of coffee.

Clint's brow drew. "I'm sorry, gangman?"

"She means Gangnam Style. You remember the song from four years ago by that Korean guy who danced like he was riding a horse," explained Tasha.

A small smirk lifted Clint's lips. "Oh, yeah. That was bad."

"Tell me about it," murmured Pepper as she eyed her soon-to-be husband across the room. It was definitely a sight to see, two grown men awkwardly jumping up and down, Thor's cape an unforeseen hindrance to their dancing.

"No, no, Blondie," Tony chided the God of Thunder. "You have to gallop. You know, gallop."

"I do not understand the point of this, Tony," rumbled the favored Son of Odon. His long blonde locks shook as he awkwardly attempted to gallop in place, his thunderous steps shaking the glass windows and lighting. "Am I doing this properly?"

Tony sighed, hands on his hips. "Unfortunately not, my friend. But a solid A for effort."

The Iron Man rounded on the couch, suddenly, where Steve Rogers was lounging watching the whole display with an entertained yet sympathetic expression; Steve had tried to tell Thor not to listen to Tony but the god was just so trusting sometimes. Tony eyed the Captain, "Whatta ya say, Cap? Wanna give it a try?"

"No, thank you," Steve replied sardonically with a single raised brow.

"Oh, come on! I'm just trying to catch you up to speed. It's a very popular dance, not your fault you missed it while you were passing time as a Cap-sicle. C'mon, the ladies love it, I swear," winked Tony. His face abruptly grew very serious. He dramatically clutched his hands to his chest, as if astonished. "Would I lie to you, Captain?"

"Alright, children, enough play time. Director Fury's on the line," chimed Pepper, breaking in before Tony could do further damage. The Avengers followed her down the hall to the conference room where they gathered around the long table. Pepper told Jarvis to lower the screen as she began passing out mugs of steaming coffee. A clear monitor dropped from the ceiling and the video feed went live, an eye-patched Director Fury glaring at them. "Morning, team. How's the weather in New York?"

"It's been kind of su-" began Steve but he was swiftly cut off by the director, "That's nice. Whatever the case, I'm sure it's better than the weather where you're going."

"And where is that?" asked Bruce.

Director Fury gave a rare smile. "Neza-Chalco-Itza."

Tony blinked. "Gazuntite."

Clint rolled his eyes and explained, "Neza is a barrio in Mexico City. Imagine a drain the size of Brooklyn and fill it with roughly four million people. It's the largest recorded slum in the world."

Bruce winced. "Sounds lovely…and not unlike Calcutta."

"I'm sure you'll feel right at home, doctor," teased Natasha.

The director briefed them quickly; their mission was to intercept and stop the kidnapping and potential torture of a U.S. asset who was hiding in Mexico City as a part of the witness protect program.

"Are you trying to make us do your dirty work, Fury? Because, in my opinion," rumbled Stark. "On a scale of one to alien invasion, this doesn't even register."

"Oh, it registers alright," declared the director. He glared at the Iron Man, "The asset you're assigned to protect is Jacob Henderson."

There came a collective mutter of, "Oh, shit."

"Um, who's Henderson again?" asked the Captain, sitting up a bit straighter, a tad embarrassed at being the only one who didn't remember. Though Steve had a sinking suspicion that Thor couldn't recall the name either.

Tony's eyes narrowed bitterly, "Oh, you know, just the nuclear physicist who learned how to turn my clean energy project into a nuclear weapon of mass destruction."

Jacob Henderson was a former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who had been one of the head physicists working alongside Eric Selvig when they'd studied the tesseract. When Thor took the tesseract out of their galaxy, Henderson had turned to Stark's clean energy technology, the same technology he used to power Stark Tower, and used it to complete Phase Two of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s plan. He'd taken their weapons and Stark's clean energy and created three different proto-types perfect for nuclear destruction. When he did, he not only became a national threat, but one of the most sought after men in the world. He was forced into hiding immediately.

"Guess we better get going then," muttered Natasha as she stood from the table, the others following her lead as the director wished them good luck and signed off.

The Avengers assembled on the rooftop helipad of Stark Tower where their team Quinjet awaited. As Pepper said goodbye to the team, Jarvis chimed in over the apartment's speaker system, "Sir, Miss Georgia is making her way up the elevator as we speak. She's currently passing the fifty-fifth floor. Might I suggest a slight delay in departure?"

Clint tilted his head toward the Quinjet. "Tasha, go ahead and get her started. I'll just be a second."

"Hurry up, Casanova. We've got a world to save," snapped Stark as he gave Pepper one final kiss. Closing the face on his Iron Man suit, he clapped Bruce on the back and the pair of friends entered the back of the Quinjet. Steve and Thor followed shortly thereafter, Steve calling to Clint, "Don't listen to Tony. Take your time. We'll be ready when you are."

Georgia was waiting for him in the foyer, his camcorder on hand, a small smile on her lips. He approached her, eyes sweeping over her frame for any sign of damage or pain. "Hey, baby, what's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing's wrong. But I'm glad I caught you…I, uh…" Georgia blushed, briefly glancing away. She chewed her lip. "I wasn't sure how long you'd be gone this time so I made you…a video."

Clint's heart has stopped three times in his life.

The first time he was seven and his mother accidentally dropped her hair dryer in the tub while Clint was taking a bath. The second time was after he'd joined the army; it was his last week at boot camp and they were practicing in-water survival exercises at Fort Richardson, just off the coast of Anchorage, Alaska. During the training, one of the guys in Clint's unit employed a faulty BDU flotation device that never inflated and, under the load of his rucksack, the soldier began to drown. Clint was a naturally good swimmer and gave the drowning soldier his BDU float; he would risk swimming without it. Two seconds later, their unit was slammed with a storm-surge wave. The force of the wave drove Clint down more than twenty feet beneath the surface of the ocean and caused him to swallow so much salt water that his lungs began to fail. His body panicked. His heart stopped.

And this…this was the third time his heart stopped.

Georgia blinked at him. "Clint?"

"Huh? Yeah, sorry. What? Did you say you made a video?"

Despite her smile, Georgia rolled her eyes, "Don't be so dramatic about it. But, yes, I did make you a video. I suggest you watch it alone, if you catch my drift."

"Consider it caught," said Clint as he took his beloved Nikon from her and swallowed thickly, a slow, stupid grin spreading across his face. "You made me a video," he repeated, pulling her into his arms. He kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose. "I hope you know I'll be completely distracted all day, now. Maybe I should watch it now an-"

"Oh, shut up. Go on, you've got a plane to catch."

"I doubt they'll leave without me considering I'm the only one who can fly that thing." But he really did have to go so he hugged her fiercely and kissed her goodbye. It was a slow kiss; the heavy, passionate kind of kiss you see in Nicholas Sparks movies right before the couple has sex for the first time. "I'll be home soon. I love you, G."

"I love you, too," Georgia murmured.

Clint winked at his wife. "You better."

July 28th, 2016

"I hope you realize there is absolutely zero chance of you having sex tonight," Georgia told him under her breath while giving him the evil eye.

Clint couldn't stop the loud chuckle bursting from his lips. "Oh? And why not?" His question was more than rhetorical. He knew exactly why he wouldn't be getting laid that night; it was because of the Nikon camcorder in his hand. He juggled the camera, "Oh, you mean because of this?"

Georgia shot him a vacant, sarcastic glare. "Uh, yeah, babe, that'd by why…I can't believe you brought that thing out in public. People are staring."

"People always stare. I'm famous. Or haven't you heard? I save the world."

"You're an idiot."

"That's hurtful," Clint pouted behind the camera's lens as he followed his wife through a fresh foods store on the bottom level of New York City's Chelsea Market. "So I'm filming you grocery shopping? This video could save your life one day. Say I lose my memory and forget-" He maneuvered around her to a vegetable stand, where he plucked up an onion and held it up to the camera. "-that you are deathly allergic to onions. But wait, that one home video when…and suddenly you're saved from dying of an allergic reaction."

"Or I could just tell you my allergies like normal people," she snapped. "And I'm not allergic to onions."

Another, possibly younger, couple passed them in the market, shooting them bold, curious stares. His wife sighed, ducking out of sight behind a banana display. "I really don't like you right now."

Snapping the camcorder shut, Clint dropped the Nikon in his coat pocket; he supposed she'd suffered long enough. He poked her side as they strolled through the deli. "You don't like me, but you love me, right?"

A pair of large, blue eyes bore a hole into him. "Yeah, sure." The words came out more as a sarcastic scoff and when she turned away from him, he quickly reached around her on either side and grabbed the shopping cart, trapping her against his chest. "G…"

"You're such a child," she rumbled, fighting a smile.

"A child that you…?"

"Tolerate. Honestly, I'm only using you for the mind-blowing sex."

"I'm flattered," he said, a lazy grin spreading over his face. "But I think there's more to it than that. Come on, out with it. I'm a child that you…? Georgia, just say it…I'm a child that you…?"

"Love!" she snapped. Her loud, random burst got more stares in one second than Clint's camera had the entire time they'd been in the store and her cheeks flamed crimson as she faced him. She swatted his chest, "You're a crazy, giant man-child that I love dearly in spite of your ridiculous antics and your obsession with that damn camera. I swear, if your team had any idea how ridiculous you truly ar-"

"Tasha knows," he murmured, swooping to place a quick, innocent kiss on her lips. "Well, kind of."

"Natasha does not count. I swear, you two have to be twins, you're so much alike. Twins just, you know, born like twelve years apart."

He nodded appreciatively. "Because that happens."

Georgia raised her eyebrows confidently and nodded, "True story."

With the Nikon politely put away, the couple continued their assault on the grocery store in peace. When they had everything they needed, they left the foods store and grabbed some donuts from a little bakery on their way out of the market. Clint's car was parked in a garage three blocks away and as they walked, Georgia nudged her husband's side. "Hey, don't forget my mom's sixtieth birthday party is next Friday."

"You know I'll be there as long as a mission doesn't pop up," said Clint.

He received a warning glare. "It better not."

"You know I can't control it, G."

"You are entitled to a day off every once in a while."

"No offense but if I call out of work I'd rather it be for something…" His eyes trailed down her body to rest on Georgia's ass. "A little more fun."

There was no missing Georgia's eye roll. "You have the sexual appetite of Hugh Hefner. Maybe even a little worse."

"Says the woman who only uses me for sex."

"Please, you know you love it," his wife scoffed. They were a block away from the garage now and Clint asked, "What do your parents think I do for a living, again?"

"Are you serious? You can remember dozens of access codes, memorize hundreds of faces and their corresponding names, and recite the S.H.I.E.L.D. policies and procedures handbook but you can't, for the life of you, remember one little lie you tells the in-laws." Georgia spoke to the streets of New York. "Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present Mr. Clint Barton."

"Ha, ha," he chuckled dryly. "But, um, seriously, babe, what do I do?"

They finally reached the parking garage and as Clint loaded the brown grocery bags into the trunk, Georgia slipped silently into the passenger seat to crank up the engine and let the car warm up. Clint joined her when he was through and watched her fiddle with the radio. "G? Hello…?" His wife bit her lip and he snickered. "You don't remember either."

"I do, too! I just…can't remember specifically. I know we told them you work with me at Stark Industries…I think."

Clint mused for a second. "Stark Industries…I can make it work."

Georgia gave a half-smile. "That whole master spy intelligence thing does come in handy, huh?"

Sometime in 2015

Clint couldn't recall much about his childhood. Mostly it was the insignificant stuff he remembered like the way his mother danced when she cooked and the constant bickering between him and his older brother. Clint's memory didn't lock in until his entire family was killed in a car accident when he was nine, the first time Clint walked away from a tragedy as the sole survivor. He remembered bouncing around from foster home to foster home after that, until the day he turned eighteen, dropped out of high school, and joined the army.

Unlike his childhood, he could perfectly recall every second of his career in the military. The sand permanently etched in the creases of his skin and beneath his fingernails. The blood fraternity that formed between him and his fellow soldiers. The feeling of a mortar round whizzing passed. The adrenaline of being under enemy fire. The seemingly endless games of pick-up football on base. The brutally unyielding weight of his first kill. The ridiculously fucking outrageous desert heat.

These memories burned away at the edges of Clint's mind. Sometimes when he went to sleep, he traveled back to that foreign desert where hunting hadjis was his favorite passed time. He'd go back to that distant but familiar place where he saw whole convoys of friends blown to hell; where he'd shot and killed countless, faceless men all for the sake of doing one's duty. That place where morals held no high ground.

Though his days in the army hardly compared to what he went through after S.H.I.E.L.D. recruited him, those were the days that Clint couldn't escape. He had been just a kid when he enlisted. He hadn't known shit about the world or life or what it meant to kill. When he dreamt about those days, he woke in a cold sweat, his hands shaking, instinctively reaching out for his bow. If he was at home, he'd make himself still and listen to Georgia's breathing beside him. He'd roll over, reach for her in the dark, and pull her close. He would gradually come back to the present.

Occasionally when this happened Georgia would wake up. She'd fold herself against him, somehow knowing what was wrong though he'd never admit it. She would whisper comforting words and stroke her hands softly across his back, shoulders, chest. She would let him hold her until the memories faded and his panic subsided. Then, she would run her fingers soothingly through his hair, lulling him back to sleep. She would do this every time without complaint.

March 2nd, 2013

"Popcorn?"

"No, I'm good."

"Soda? I've got Coca Cola and Dr. Pepper."

"Water's fine."

"Damn, you're lame. Have you ever had a movie night before? The entire point of staying in on a Saturday night to watch movies is to veg-out on junk food in your pajamas. We're talking candy, popcorn, chips, and chocolate covered everything. Sweat pants and hoodies accompanied by fuzzy socks. A cuddly couch and a kick ass selection of films. Seriously, did you have a childhood?"

The corners of his mouth twitched upward in amusement. Clint watched from the fluffy confines of the couch as Georgia fluttered about the kitchen snagging all those goodies she'd just named off. "That stuff'll kill you, you know," he called as she popped an Oreo into her mouth. He saw her careless shrug, saw the way college hoodie rode up as she reached for the spray cheese on the top shelf in the pantry.

"Yeah, it might kill me one day," his girlfriend murmured as she finally joined him in the living room. "But I'll take my chances with a heart attack at age sixty. Whereas you and your band of merry men, risk death once a week."

"A Robin Hood joke. Clever. I almost didn't catch it."

She smirked. "I try. Now, what'll it be first, Ms. Evergreen? Wet Hot American Summer or Animal House."

"Oh, I didn't realize we were having a porno-movie night."

"First off, both of these are American classics and neither one of them are…okay, well, I can see where you'd get the porno vibe from Animal House but American Summer no way. Except for the gay sex scene with Bradley Cooper and that one guy whose name I can never remember."

"Well, you just ruled out American Summer, so Animal House it is."

"Am I sensing a little homophobia here, Clint?" sniggered Georgia as she opened the DVD player. "You know it's not contagious."

"I'm not homophobic. The only reason I watched the fourth Harold and Kumar was because of Neil Patrick Harris. Talk about an American classic."

Georgia's eyes grew wide. "You like NPH? Clint, if you weren't already here, I'd be kidnapping you right now. I fucking love Neil Patrick Harris. I have seen every single episode of How I Met Your Mother three times."

Clint's brow furrowed. "That is oddly specific."

"It's a wonderful show."

As the title credits began to play, Georgia snuggled into the couch beside Clint, his arm casually falling over her shoulders. He played with the strings of her hoodie. "What is this even about?"

"It's pretty much one of the funniest movies of all time about a college fraternity and the crazy shenanigans they pull. I think you'll be able to relate. There are several scenes that remind me of parties at Tony's apartment."

"Then I'm sure it'll be a riot," snorted Clint, who shook his head when Georgia offered him a handful of popcorn. The normalcy of the moment struck him as his girlfriend returned her attention to the television. He glanced around her living room in a slight manner of disbelief. This was so…domestic. The idea felt foreign on his thoughts, almost unnatural. But when Georgia shifted against him, her body pressing further into his own, he forced his attention on her.

"You're doing it again," she murmured, the corners of her lips twitching into a smile, her eyes never leaving the tv screen.

Clint grinned, "Sorry."

"I mean, I know I'm super fucking attractive and stuff, but this staring is starting to get a little ridiculous," she teased, playfully elbowing his ribs. With a loud laugh, Clint raised his hands in mock surrender, "I just…damn, G, I can't help myself."

"Wow, that almost sounded sincere!"

Clint's eyes trailed over her body. "Oh, it was."

Rolling her eyes at his cheesiness, his girlfriend asked sarcastically, "God, Clint, who taught you how to be such a smooth talker?"

"No one. Must come naturally," he shrugged.

"Oh, shut up, and watch the movie."

In the next chapter, we'll go back to 2012 and pick up where we left off with Georgia and Clint after the Stark Industries gala. Expect lots of smut!