"What the fuck Clint?" Hill.

"Guys-"

"Why dad?" Coop.

"Guys, please-"

"What is wrong with you?" Lila.

"C'mon, stop-"

"What do you mean 'what Thanos should have done'?" Laura.

"Muuuum, it's loud." Nate.

"Too much. Too much at once." Wanda held her head in both her hands and slumped back in her chair, Steve reached out and tried to get her to meet his eyes. Her state went pretty much unnoticed by anyone else as they all unloaded their frustration on Clint. Though it was pretty much all the archer could see. He opened his mouth to shut everyone up but Fury beat him to it.

"Alright, alright. Enough. You've had your say, now chill the fuck out. Have some consideration for the telepaths amongst you."

Everyone looked at him then focused on Wanda, her nails were digging into her face as the remnants of the emotional outbursts assaulted her. She was always more susceptible when she wasn't in control of her own emotions. Clint could only imagine how tough a time it was for her. She'd come back but Vision was still dead and now so was her mentor. She was left flailing against the grief without anything truly solid to grip onto because everyone else was crumbling under the pressure of theirs. She was raw, jagged and feeling the same from everyone else was just aggravating her wound. Nat said she wanted to help Wanda through it, wanted to ease her pain. But she'd just added to it.

At least there was one person here with their head screwed on enough to help. Clint was about to say thanks to Fury when the man looked him in the eye with an anger he wasn't used to seeing. It was normally hidden beneath a thin veil of let's-pretend-you're-not-in-the-shit but Clint was being treated to the full unedited version.

"You were her partner," Fury bit out, forcing his voice low.

"Yeah, I know." He didn't really have a right to get angry, he knew that. What he did was a total dick move. But the thing is, he knew that too. He knew he was in the wrong and hated that they didn't think he could see that for himself. To make it worse, he barely even remembered it. In the back of his mind there was something about a photo, but those early days after the Snap he was fuelled only by alcohol and the occasional bit of junk food.

"Really? Because it sure don't seem like it."

"How did you expect me to react, huh? I was hardly in my right mind. It was my family. He took my family."

"And here I was, thinking she was a part of that too," he spat out.

Tell my family I love them.

Tell them yourself.

Even then, poised on the edge of their last goodbye, it was 'my' family. Not 'our'. He wracked his brain for a time when he did say it, when he did tell her she was one of them. A Barton in all but blood and name. He came up blank.

Didn't she know?

How could she? She didn't even realise they were friends until he pointed it out to her. But she'd grown since then.

Any retort he had for Fury died on his lips. She knew, she had to know. She had to.

"Don't." Wanda's voice was sharp and Clint looked up to see her glaring at the former Director, who in turn was still viciously eyeing Clint. It took a couple of seconds but he heeded Wanda's warning and turned to walk towards the window beside Hill's chair. Staring out of it as if he was still on the bridge of the Helicarrier.

Wanda, for her part, gave Clint a sympathetic look and he realised he hadn't been alone with his thoughts. He tried to keep them back but they were persistent and the more they came through the queasier she looked. It wasn't just the emotional outbursts from everyone causing her state, it was his inner turmoil.

He slipped outside while most everyone was distracted.

"Mind if I join you?"

Clint had ended up in the clearing again, he was building himself up to going back in. Sure, he wasn't looking forward to facing all that disappointment again, or actually giving some answers. But the thing he least wanted to do was cause Wanda more pain. He'd spent the last half hour trying to reign his thoughts in.

"Do I really get a choice?" He sighed, not bothering to look at the man. This man who was seething with him not even an hour ago. Somehow, while Clint had done whatever he wanted, fuck the consequences, the mere memory of this man's words kept Nat going. He gave her the strength she needed to become the woman she became in those five years. While Clint was one of the reasons it was sapped.

To think words were that powerful. Muttered years ago, not even sounding important at the time, only to come echoing back carrying much more significance. That had happened with them, hadn't it? When they first met. When he put the arrow back in the quiver rather than let it fly into her heart. Back then he knew what was said was important, it tends to be when you're trying to convince one of the top assassins any spy agency has ever seen to defect, but he never would have thought it'd haunt him like this.

Stop it Clint. Don't go down that rabbit hole.

"No," Fury said.

"Then by all means, pull up a patch of grass. Make yourself comfortable."

"You're missing the point of my being here, Barton."

"Just choosing not to see it."

"Your wife's worried."

"Funny, you never struck me as the type of person to care about family," Clint huffed a breath and made a show of checking his clearly empty wrist, "and that's two comments about it in just under an hour. She can wait, they all can. I'm not ready yet."

"You never will be."

"Dunno how deep you're trying to go here, but I was just talking about going back into the house."

His old boss sighed and scratched along his jawbone for a few seconds, gathering his thoughts. Clint could see it behind his eyes, Fury was figuring him out. If the archer wasn't so battered and bruised by everything that had happened over the last five years, he might have felt an ache at the knowledge that Fury, one of the people who knew him longest and best, no longer understood how to approach him. More proof of what he'd become without his family.

Eventually his guest decided to sit opposite him, making sure to spread the tail of his leather coat out to avoid any hidden mess in the grass soaking into his trousers. For one humiliating moment, Clint thought he was going to recreate the scene between Nat and Thor. It was one thing between the two Avengers, they were going through something that only a handful could truly understand. There was a solidarity between them, between all of the heroes really, that Steve likened to his war days. He said that was the one thing that had never changed over the decades. The familial bond with brothers and sisters in arms.

As long and as well as Fury knew Clint, or had known him, he was the boss man. The puppet master in the shadows picking up a repetitive strain injury by relentlessly pulling all the strings. Who always seemed to know what was going on, no matter where he was. He wasn't the type to get personal or emotional. At least not with his subordinates. Former or otherwise.

So he was glad when the man stretched his legs out in front of him and turned his face into the sun.

"Look, Barton. I see something in you. Always have, otherwise I wouldn't have brought you in. You were a good agent but it wasn't the agent part of you that paid it forward with Romanoff. That was because you're also a good man."

The spy stopped, giving Clint time to take the words in and wonder where he was going.

"I'm not here to give you a pep talk, and I'm damn well not going to be one half of an emotionally charged conversation. I don't do that. And I'm gonna be straight here, I don't think that's what you need."

Fury finally turned his head so he was looking at Clint and for the first time since he'd walked into the clearing their eyes met. Clint couldn't tell what was going on in Fury's mind, but his remaining eye was bright. With what, the archer wasn't so sure.

"Barton. You're a good man. Good men fail sometimes, they don't always make the right decisions. But making the decision doesn't make them good, it just makes them decisive. What makes them good is how they react when they go down the wrong road. We saw how Romanoff reacted and she proved she was a good woman, way beyond anything we could have imagined. But she didn't do it alone. You were there to give her directions, guide her along the way and know her truth.

"I'm guessing she knew your truth and it sounds like she tried to guide you and give you directions but you turned from her. You wasted those five years, you squandered your friendship. But, relationships like yours - those forged on the walk back through hell - are stronger than vibranium. She stayed there for you. Guess why."

Clint just shrugged, his jaw was tight and his throat was going the same way, not really in the mood to talk while his eyes were stinging with the effort of not crying.

"Because you're a good man," Fury said. "That's why she stayed there for you and that is exactly why Laura and your kids will stay by your side. For everything that's going on between you right now, they know who you are and they always will. You went down the wrong path. You weren't ready to turn back before, but you are now. So when Laura tries to guide you, you damn well let her. You go back to being the Clint Barton we all know and tolerate. Or as close to as you can. Because Romanoff died for a chance to bring everybody back, and that included her best friend from five years ago."

Clint wasn't afraid of emotions, they were something he embraced. True, he'd only learnt this after a lifetime of not understanding and avoiding them. But now he wore them proudly, teaching his children there was no shame in crying if they needed to or being proud of themselves for achieving something. So, it's not like he was afraid of crying in front of Fury, he'd done it enough times over the years. It's just that he was sick of it. Sick of the leaking eyes and red cheeks.

"I think you think I'm better than I actually am," he finally whispered, everything pushed back behind a mask.

"What would you say to Romanoff if she'd said that about herself?"

"That she's insane," Clint smiled, knowing he'd just lost a small tussle. "Okay, so say I do this. Say I tell Laura and the kids about my murderous hobbies. How do I carry on without Nat? How do we all carry on?"

Fury froze. It wasn't obvious, even Clint barely managed to catch it but he'd happened to be looking in the right place at the right time. His shoulders tensed ever so slightly and his eyes, usually so busy taking everything in, stilled for a split second. Probably seeing the redhead in some far flung memory.

"You just do, Barton."

He had hoped for something a little more helpful. In Clint's opinion that's exactly what he'd already been doing. Getting on with it because as well as the complete gut-wrenching grief that came with every second, there was the heart-soaring joy of seeing his wife and children and friends again. The very fact he was even able to have this conversation with Fury made him happy because even three months ago he never would have thought it possible. But every time he felt that joy he also felt guilt for being happy when Nat wasn't around. Then, because life's an absolute bitch, he felt guilty for being miserable despite having his family back.

And that meant sometimes he just found it easier to avoid the facts in front of him. Trying to act like none of it happened. But then along came Nat's journals.

Maybe this was how Tony felt when he came home to find out Pepper was pregnant. There was the good and the bad, the sad and the happy. It was impossible not to feel both and he couldn't decide which was worse. He wished he could ask his old teammate how he dealt with it. But Tony had followed Nat on the one-way trip.

He looked down at the journal resting on his leg and thought of the entries since they hunted down Thanos. Her determination shone through. Only, it had been shining through the entire time, but this was the first time she'd embraced it. He sensed a shift in her mindset. She was broken, sure. But she'd been broken before and still managed to get things done. It was just a matter of doing it all over again.

But of all the people and all the words to set her off. It was such a standard Fury saying, he came up with them like most people churn out fly away comments.

"Of all the things to give her hope, it had to be trouble lasting forever. When did you even come up with that one?"

Fury didn't answer straight away, basking in the setting sun. Giving nothing to the archer. It took so long for an answer to come Clint wasn't entirely sure the man had heard.

"That was after Sokovia," he said.

A single bird trilled in a tree above the two men. Either not knowing or not caring it was intruding on a rare moment of sentiment. Clint realised though, and he held his breath, not wanting to disturb his boss. Fury didn't share, that was his basic rule. So the retired spy didn't want to do anything that might stop him.

"Those words were meant to keep her around," Fury spoke again, "keep her in the fight. Not send her to her death nine years later."

"Or a year earlier."

"Don't even try to mess my mind around with time-travel Barton, or I'll mess you up so bad."

They shared a laugh. Trying to settle things down.

"I've lost people, Barton. It's the job. But this one, it hits hard. One of the hardest. We threw her into impossible situation after impossible situation and she always came back. Usually with you in a stretcher."

"Oh c'mon. I wasn't hurt that often."

It was a running joke between him, Fury, Hill and Nat. Coulson too, when he was around. There were times when they'd each bet how quickly he'd get hurt. Nat would start her debriefs by saying 'It was pretty straight forward, Agent Barton came back with just a broken rib'.

"Denial, Barton. Denial."

"Come on in, Fury. The water's warm."

A moment's comfortable silence was all they allowed before jumping back on track.

"I got used to her coming back. No matter the odds, no matter the mission, no matter what she had to do, she always came into my office and updated me. I know she hasn't worked for me for a while but I still expect her to come through my door, telling me where to shove it. That's the thing I have a hard time getting past. Never again will that happen. Of all the agents that have worked for me, most with much cleaner records than hers, she's the one I'll always regret. And she didn't even die an agent.

"I'm honoured if she found my words worth remembering. But I regret them if she followed them to her death."

"I didn't think you did heart to hearts?" Clint grinned at him, it didn't feel real and didn't sit quite right on his face, but needling the former director was never something he could resist.

"You tell anyone and I will wipe you off the face of this planet."

"No you won't," he said wistfully, "you wouldn't do that to Nat." He sighed internally. Fury might have been the last person he expected to seek him out, but he might've been exactly the person he needed.

"You're right. I wouldn't. But you owe me," Fury eyed him carefully, "I know how every single one of my agents died. They gave their lives in service to their country and because of my orders. The least I can do is honour them in some way. She might not have died under my orders, but she gave so much in service to SHIELD, she grew so much right in front of us, I'd feel wrong not being able to honour her. Especially if my words played a part."

Clint looked back at him, holding his gaze, which was always intense, probably because it was all channelled through one eye.

"I think your words gave her the strength to get through those five years. If anything, they breathed life into her. I dunno, but yeah. One day, when I'm ready. I'll tell you what happened."

"Thank you."

"How does life without become normal again?"

"It doesn't. I guess. You just get used to it. It's like losing an eye. It's painful, leaves you unbalanced, the world doesn't look the same anymore. An essential part of you is gone. You don't think you can function without it and it leaves a butt-ugly scar. You adapt, because that's the one thing us goddamned human beings are good at. We find ways to survive even if we may not want to. Things will never go back to normal, you will never be the same Clint Barton again. But you will adapt. And you will keep going."

The man's words were a balm on Clint's open wounds. Trickling silkily over the open sores and easing away the pain nestled deeply. For a moment he felt it lifting, ever so slightly. It was easier to breathe and life didn't feel like such a curse. Good memories came sweeping in, brushing away those of Vormir. And something bubbled within him. Something so lively and bright and vibrant and impossible. It was an echo of an earlier time but he was still so pleased to feel it, feel something that was other.

And he smiled, a proper toothy grin. The trademark Hawkeye flicker. Whenever people saw it they knew ridicule was not far behind.

"I'm sorry," he said, "are you comparing my best friend's death to a cat scratching your eye?"

Whatever payback was sure to come his way in the future, was worth it for the single second of dawning realisation. Caught off guard the aging spy wasn't able to cover his reactions quick enough. All the stories Clint had heard of how the eye was lost, this was the one that seemed the most like Fury. A man who stumbled into an alien plot, survived it all, teamed up with a super-powered human, only to lose his eye to a cat.

"Who told you?" The man all but growled at Clint, who barked out a laugh. It felt so real.

"Nat. Oh and I can tell you it was the funniest thing she ever heard. Told me right after picking me up from Tokyo, said she'd been dying to tell me since Carol let it slip."

"Oh I'm gonna get Danvers back good. You know, it's not really a cat, right."

"Hysterics all night," Clint continued as if the other man hadn't said anything, "all those times you said something about it. Like 'the last time you trusted somebody you lost an eye', or 'there's a price for staring evil in the face', and you were talking about a goddamned cat."

He could hear her musical laugh and his gruff one, not that long ago. Saw the sweet agony on her face and laughter crinkling her features and making breathing difficult. She clutched at her ribs while he wiped tears from his eyes and together they tumbled into a world without tragedy and enjoyed each other's company for the first time in a while.

And when he stopped remembering, Clint expected the pain to settle down as uncomfortably as it had before. But it never happened.

He would have to keep this with him, always. This memory, the beauty of it. His very own ward against what lay in the journals.

Fury heaved himself up and once again loomed over the archer, he looked down with his piercing stare, disapproval lingering again now the chat was out the way.

"None of this means I'm happy with what you did. But it's far from the worst thing I've ever heard. It's getting dark, like I said, Laura's worried. Get yourself inside soon."

With that he turned away and headed back towards the house, until he paused. Without turning back he added the last thing Clint ever thought he'd hear.

"Oh and, Barton, I do care about family. Whether you like it or not, you're it and Hill. So was Romanoff. I've already lost one of you so I sure as hell ain't gonna stand by and watch another shit all over the second chance she gave him."

"If I'm family you'll tell me where you and Hill are headed next."

"Classified."

Clint didn't head in right away. In fact, night had fallen while he contemplated the many unexpected words shared between him and Fury. But the memory of what he'd read out gnawed at him until he finally had to head back in and face whatever was waiting for him.

Which happened to be nothing.

All the lights were off and all other humans had made themselves scarce. He suspected that with the two new guests, Fury and Hill had probably elected to stay on the jet.

Maybe he should convert the barn. They weren't really using it for anything. It would make a nice guesthouse.

C'mon Clint. Fix your family and sort your issues first, then think about starting a new project. He shook his head.

If the house wasn't so silent he wouldn't have noticed the noise coming from the ground floor room. This had been their main guestroom until their favourite redhead came along and claimed it as her own. But he was fine with that, it gave him the perfect excuse to turn the attic into another room. When Laura moaned about the project he said they couldn't have just one guestroom, it was uncivilised.

So, he went on high alert when he realised someone was intruding in her space. He crept down the hallway, not making any noise, avoiding all the creaky floorboards he'd made a mental note of needing to replace. Whoever was in there hadn't bothered to close the door properly, all Clint had to do was push it slightly to find Steve sitting on the floor at the foot of Nat's bed. He couldn't really see much, but from the angle of the soldier's head he was looking at something in his hands. It took a few seconds to realise it was a hoody. One of hers.

The anger threatening to well up subsided, and then disappeared completely when he heard a stifled sniffle. He would let Steve have this, time to himself to grieve. Right now was not a time for anyone to intrude. Plus, Clint's day had already come dangerously close to his emotional limit and there was still one more conversation he needed to have. And, from the sounds of it, his target had made her way down the stairs and was tinkering in the kitchen.

Just as he pulled the door to, a shadow detached itself from the hallway and darted into the room. Liho jumped on Nat's bed without a second thought and settled on one of the pillows. With a pang he realised it was the one on the right. The side Nat favoured.

He left the room behind and instead went for the kitchen. The light was on now and stood beside the kettle, arms folded and slippered foot tapping against the floor, was his beautiful wife. Her dressing gown hung loosely around her, the tie coming undone as she'd pottered. Clint hadn't made a sound but she sensed him and looked up. Her eyes were red, but resolute.

"Laura-"

"Sit down."

She turned as the kettle signalled it was done and busied herself with pouring them a drink. He did as he was told. He might have been one of the original Avengers, but there was only one boss in this house.

"You know, you've really put this family through a lot of crap, Clint," her back was still turned on him as she stirred the contents of the mugs, "and we've put up with it. We haven't asked any questions and I like to think I've always been as understanding as I could.

"I mean, you could hardly help falling under Loki's spell. I get that. Then of course you go after Hydra because, well duh, it's Hydra. But then you run off to Germany, when you're supposed to be retired and you came back a criminal. Still, as mad as I was I got it. They were your team and they needed your help."

She was done sorting out the drinks but still hadn't turned to look at him. Her palms were both laid flat against the table top as she spoke.

"But, God give me strength, I will not tolerate secrets from my husband. Not anymore. Not now I know things were so bad you pushed Nat away. Jesus Christ, Clint. Nat. She was the one person who might've known you better than I do."

Laura took a deep breath and picked up both drinks and Clint could see her eyes again. They were watery, yes, but fierce. The sweet scent reached him just before she placed one of the cups in front of him. He looked from the swirling chocolate to the determined set of his wife's jaw as she spoke again.

"I think we need to have a chat."