Music floated through the house because the radio was on and the radio was on because it was necessary.

The tune was upbeat, the lyrics were not. A song that came out during the Blip.

Sort of like The Smiths but also not because 'they're, like, super old dad' and Lila wouldn't be caught dead listening to them or anyone similar.

Before the music, while Laura spoke, every person in the room found themselves in a position they thought might better brace themselves against what they were hearing. Except for Clint who knew nothing would ever soften the blow.

Fury was leant forward in his chair, elbows on knees, hands clasped together, head bowed.

Hill pinched the bridge of her nose, teeth gritted if the set of her jaw was anything to go by.

Steve was stood by the window, arms folded and eyes closed.

Wanda, in the armchair, had her legs hanging over the side, a cushion clutched to her chest, sometimes her chin was propped on it, sometimes her face was buried in it.

Lila sat still, except for one socked foot she tapped silently against the rug.

Cooper was squeezed in next to her, sat as straight as he could manage, fists clenched.

Nate was cuddled up to Laura, head rested on her shoulder as he tried to follow along while she read.

Which she did. Her hands shook as she turned each page but her voice remained steady and Clint just couldn't help but admire her for it. All through the rest of Rocket's stay, the encounter with Clint, Nat's readjustment to being alone again, her panic attack, the trip down memory lane. She read out each of Nat's thoughts until someone else spoke up.

"Mama," Nate said in the way of every long suffering child and tugged on her sleeve, "I don't like this story anymore."

No one liked the story anymore so no one argued when Laura closed the journal.

But then there was silence, and with silence came the pressure to talk about what they just heard. So the radio went on, because no one wanted to speak, either. And even that wasn't enough to erase the tension everyone felt.

Except for Nate who really made ignorance look like bliss. The only person in the whole room with a smile on his face when the first few notes trickled out of the speakers. It widened when it came to the chorus and he clapped his hands together, jumped on his spot on the sofa and almost fell into Laura.

He put on a good show of the clueless and naive child, but he was perceptive, intuitive. Two traits that both parents had spotted in him early on. Two traits Clint could see in play then, because even though his youngest might not fully grasp the situation he sensed the mood and decided to fall back on what he usually did when any of his family was upset.

Make a fool of himself. And with none of the inhibitions that people collected throughout the years, he did a good job of it.

At some point he started to sing. Loud and off key and most of the words were made up. His tune wasn't even distantly related to the song and the beat he managed to find was jaunty and jagged.

Sometimes his heel caught Laura's leg, sometimes he teetered until he bumped against her shoulder. But all the time he was energy and joy.

The silence shifted from sullen to stunned to bemused until a laugh bubbled out from Lila and she abandoned her seat to sweep her brother into her arms. He giggled at the sudden weightlessness and it was so infectious that Clint was smiling before he knew it was an option.

"Dance, yeah? Let's dance Lila." Nate questioned and commanded.

And he had his sister wrapped so well around his little finger that Clint was soon watching his only daughter and youngest son dancing in the middle of the front room, her usual self doubts as non-existent as Nate's. He was in her arms with one of his slung behind her neck and the hand of his other held hers as if they really were in hold. She guided them round the same spot at a steady one-two-three pace and Clint couldn't help but admire the grace she had not to flinch at the tune her brother screeched and slaughtered in her ear. Instead, she picked up speed every so often and spun them around and around until he couldn't get the words out because he was breathless from laughing and there was nothing but exhilaration on his face.

Clint's attention was snapped away from the scene by a shaky intake of breath beside him. It was small and not meant to be heard by anyone, but he'd had a lifetime to get used to it and what felt like a lifetime to miss it. Laura smiled when he looked at her but she used it like a dam. With nothing but a squeeze of his knee she turned back to watch their children as if they were the rarest of sights, her unshed tears glistened in her eyes while, to Clint, that smile brightened up the room.

And it struck him, she was right. It was a rare sight. A remnant from before the Snap

"Coop," Nate said, stretching out the 'oo' and popping the 'p' as if it would be enough to make up the rest of his name. All eyes landed on the other Barton and he froze under the joint scrutiny of the room, not quite as free of the self-conscious thoughts that plagued him as his siblings.

There was a split second where he hesitated, torn between staying away from the attention and not wanting to be the one to spoil whatever mood Nate had created. Then he remembered his brother was not an easy person to say no to, so he didn't even try.

Nate was passed from sibling to sibling and before Lila could bow out, Laura swooped in and embraced her so they swayed together.

And there was no saying why, no real explanation for it other than everyone getting swept away in the moment, but it seemed to unstick everyone else from where they were perched.

The music was turned up so it wasn't so much floating through the house but crashing.

Wanda was the first up, no doubt buoyed by the empathic side of her abilities. She abandoned her cushion and dragged Steve-the-always-reluctant dancer away from the window, which was impressive because getting him to dance was something Clint had only ever seen Nat manage. Then it was Hill, who wasn't known for her dancing but it's not like she was known for turning down a challenge either. And the three of them moved with the others and added their voices to the music, because at some point someone else had started singing and just like a dawn chorus, the rest felt obliged to join in. It was awkward but no one cared because this impromptu, in-the-moment living of life didn't have room for those kind of thoughts, or any thoughts at all.

And that's probably why, to the surprise of all present, Fury took a spot next to Steve and the two old men of Shield found themselves shuffling with the others. Hill and Wanda laughed, which was picked up by the other inhabitants of the makeshift dance floor until Nate's echoed around the room, louder than the radio and louder than the singing until, to Clint, laughter was the only real music left.

He sat on the outside and looked in. Liho the grumpy cat was his only companion and even she seemed moved by the peculiar mood because she was happy to tolerate his proximity.

And then Lila joined her brothers and Laura beckoned him with arms held out wide and her bright smile as she called him 'honey'.

He wasted no time because there was a big difference between watching and experiencing. The joy was theirs but, call him selfish, he wanted it to be his, too. He slipped into Laura's arms and added his voice to the not-quite-so-melodic choir and really couldn't hold back his smile when he felt the vibrations against his chest that said she was singing too.

Everything they'd heard in the last few entries slipped from his mind. He forgot about the journals and the super secret Russian spy family and he forced the thought of the panic attack and the guilt of possibly being responsible that riddled him.

He forgot it all and melted into the joy he had searched so desperately for since everyone came back. Melted into the moment where he could enjoy the life that she made sure he kept. The life she had saved. The life she had given back to him.

Only then did he understand what she had written about. Her moment half an hour outside New York. The uplifting soul-soaring serenity felt at such force there was no way not to be overwhelmed.

He was content.

He was complete.

As much as he could be given the circumstances.

For the first time since returning home he was truly grateful for what she stopped him from doing. For the time she had gifted him.

He danced and he sang and he laughed and he smiled. And if anyone asked him why he would say it was because it was all he could do in the face of such clarity of life. It was all any of them could do.

It was a moment.

His moment.

Their moment.

Time that was not about their grief or their burdens but about the fact that, despite everything, they were still there.

As Nat had observed, it's a moment not meant to last. Rather than let that sour their experience they soaked it all in and lived it up and stored it in their memories because they knew that soon, when life was tough again, they would need it.

And all this spontaneous celebration of singing and dancing might not be the most normal thing to happen, in fact it was the sort of cringeworthy crap that made Clint hate Hallmark movies, but these weren't normal times.

'Normal' didn't count for shit anymore, anyway. If his life had taught him one thing it was that 'normal' never existed in the first place.

"What do you reckon they're like?" Wanda said out of the blue just over an hour later. She and Laura carried an array of drinks in for everyone and Clint breathed in deep to capture the odd mix of tea, coffee and hot chocolate.

The kids were upstairs and everyone else had settled back down, except for Steve who returned to his place by the window. When Laura handed him his drink he mumbled a thanks and placed it on the windowsill, barely even looking at it.

"Who?" Hill asked.

"The Russians."

"As a people or-" Clint started but Wanda seemed to predict he was going to make a feeble joke and wasted no time in talking over him.

"The ones she spoke about."

Given the only things they knew about them were the scant details provided in the journals, Clint wasn't surprised no one had an answer. For his part, he tried to picture Natasha with them; the day she blew out birthday candles for the first time or rode her bike or dyed her hair.

He remembered her first birthday at Shield and he tried to superimpose the soft surprise he'd spotted for just a second onto the face of the girl in the photo as she was given something that was actually hers.

He tried to see her as a big sister and thought of all the times she'd protected him, guided Steve, taught Lila and he realised it wasn't as big a leap as he thought it was. That perhaps she had never forgotten the role of sister but the aftermath of whatever happened in Ohio had left her without a sibling.

It hurt his heart to know there was another woman out there suffering the same thing.

Then he tried to imagine what it was like for Nat, seeing them again after everything that happened with the Avengers. He didn't know anything about the Widows, but he knew enough about the Red Guardian to know he was like Captain America in some ways.

He believed in the cause, he was a tool for the government, he followed his orders.

For all intents and purposes he was a good guy. Yet, given that his cause meant validating the existence of a programme that kidnapped and enslaved girls and cycled them through a life no one should suffer, Clint wasn't all that sure he liked the guy.

The Widows were victims but he, whether through ignorance or willingness by indoctrination, was an enabler.

Nat didn't blame him, though. She missed him, called him family. Maybe, Clint thought, he should pay more attention to that. She did not easily forgive those who played a part in her trafficking and training. Somehow, he had earned it.

"No idea," Clint said at last, wishing he had some sort of insight to offer but the more he thought about it the more he wished he could talk to Nat about them. Get to know them through her eyes. "Never knew about them."

"Did Shield deal with them?" Wanda turned in her seat to face Fury.

"Nothing initiated by us," he said, "heard of them though. Well, him mostly. Everything about the women was just whispers, none of them good. Kind of like what we heard about Romanoff before we sent Barton after her."

"Well," Laura said, "she had some happy memories with them. Almost normal ones that every kid should have. I think that says a lot about them"

"What do you think happened?" Steve asked and his voice creaked at the sudden exertion being asked of it.

"Mission ended," Clint shrugged, "like they do. The Red Room was brutal, I doubt they let them stay together for long."

"You gonna look for them?" Steve looked at him and for some reason it wasn't a question he'd considered. "You gonna tell them?"

"It's all over the news. They already know," he said, "but if they want to know more? I have a feeling they'll find me."

It was a daunting thought, having Russian assassins in your home when you didn't invite them there. Apparently Laura thought so too, because she changed the subject.

"What is taking the kids so long," she sighed and left the room to yell at the foot of the stairs. "Cooper, get your brother and sister and go sort out the chicken coop, please."

There was a resigned 'sorry mum' in the distance, followed by some moody sounding footsteps. She stayed a couple of seconds longer and eyed the staircase before returning to the living room.

"Is what Nat said right?" She asked and Clint went to high alert because he knew what those narrowed eyes meant all too well.

"Errr, which bit?"

"The reason you didn't fix the creaky steps was because you thought you could rely on them as much as all the high end security stuff I've had to get to grips with over the years."

"In my defence, I didn't think she'd write it down. Hell, I'm surprised she even remembered something stupid like that."

"C'mon, Clint, stupid is the only thing people remember about you."

"Ouch. Actually ouch, that one cut deep."

"Mum's right, dad," Cooper said from the foot of the stairs where he was pulling on his wellies, "it's pretty dumb."

"I'm just saying, in all my years of covert operations, I've been caught out more often by a staircase than a security camera."

"You sure that's the sort of thing you want to be saying in front of the guy in charge of sending you out on those covert ops?" Fury said from his menacing spot in the corner. "In fact, you shouldn't have been getting caught at all."

"We've been over this, Fury. I'm retired now, you don't need to worry about me embarrassing you anymore."

"No, we just have to worry about you embarrassing us instead," Lila piped up, having joined the welly brigade and watched as Cooper tried to coax Nate into his.

"When did this turn onto a pick-on-dad-a-thon?"

"It's always been that way, honey, you're only just noticing it." Laura kissed him on the cheek in passing and handed a list to the kids. "Now, I want all of it done before lunch, and no shortcuts. Do it properly."

Lila read it with her nose scrunched and Nate sighed as if he thought he deserved a better thanks after making everyone happy earlier. Coop led them out without a complaint.

"Okay," Hill said over the rim of her cup, "any reason you're sending them away?"

"Uhhhh, to sort out the chickens, Hill, haven't you been listening?" Clint said, his feet were resting on the coffee table and crossed at the ankle, his head hung over the back of the sofa and his interlaced fingers rested against his stomach. "I ain't doing it, those evil mother cluckers keep trying to peck me to death."

"Uhhhh, because, Hawkeye the observant," Laura said with more emphasis and sarcasm than he thought was strictly necessary, "I thought there might be a lot of things we want to talk about."

"And the kids don't need to?" Clint asked.

"Already looking for a therapist."

"Might have slipped your notice, but we're not the talking sort," Fury said and he seemed pretty unmoved by the suggestion.

"Don't bother arguing, even Nat knew it was futile."

"Well then, who's gonna start?" Clint clapped his hands together and reached for his drink.

"Liho!"

"Oh really? I was thinking mister broody over there silhouetting himself against the window," he waved his hand in Steve's general direction, "but if you think you can get the cat to talk, then by all means."

He was roused from his relaxation when said cat was dumped on his lap and there were claws digging into his thigh. "Trying to get outside to the chickens. Steve, I know my comedian husband was exercising his not-so-sharp wit, but it's not a bad idea if you wanted to start."

For a few long seconds the only sound he made was a weary sigh, which fogged up the glass. Wanda shivered in her seat. In the days since his house was overrun by Avengers and former Shield agents Clint had come to realise it meant she was trying not to feel feelings that didn't belong to her. Whatever was running through Steve's head, it was strong enough to reach her.

"Do we have to?" he said so quietly it was like he was talking to the window and everyone else just happened to overhear. "Today's been a nice day so far, a better day. If I speak I think I'll just ruin it."

Nothing audible happened, no sighs, no verbal displays of understanding. Just a joint intake of breath throughout the room. The leftover joy from earlier was fragile and they all felt it.

Clint never claimed to be an expert at reading people, he definitely wasn't in the same league as Natasha, but some people were easier to read than others. And, if there was a bookstore equivalent of people reading, the super soldier would be in the 9-12 section, which was something Clint could handle. While everyone else had managed to lose themselves in the dancing and singing, Steve didn't quite manage to let go of his demons.

"Yeah, I think we have to."

Steve looked at him, dragging his eyes away from the window for the first time in a while, his drink was still untouched. "What can I say that I haven't already?"

"Steve-" Laura started.

"You wanna hear from me, but why? Because I was there?"

"Rogers-" Fury said.

"Except I wasn't really, was I?" Steve spoke over him, "if I was there if I was present none of this would be news to me. But it is. It all is."

"Maybe-" Wanda tried to help.

"And I just-" he paused at last but no one dared to interject this time, "don't know anymore. I don't know what really happened."

"You can't blame yourself, Steve," Hill said.

"She had a panic attack," he said and stared the former commander down, "she was on edge, she couldn't think straight, she struggled to breathe, to - to - to function. What possible excuse can I have for missing that? And how many times did it happen since? How many times did I miss it?" His fists were clenched and his breathing was heavy.

"Who knows," Clint said, "maybe it didn't happen again. Maybe it became a regular thing. But you didn't miss it Steve, she didn't let you see. She didn't give you a choice."

Just like she didn't give me one. He thought to himself.

"You were there," Clint said, letting a little emotion into his voice, "you did better by her than anyone else."

Steve scoffed. "If you were there you would have known. Would've been able to help."

"Isn't that the whole point?" He had never felt regret more keenly. "I wasn't. You were. And you bet your ass you helped, because if you didn't it would be all over those journals."

It was a feeble attempt to lighten the mood but it seemed to work because Steve gave a weak smile and nodded.

"You don't seem surprised," he said, "that she had a panic attack."

Clint, Fury and Hill just looked at each other and shrugged. Some joint experiences were better than others, and watching the side effects of deprogramming was not one of the better ones.

"They happened when she was acclimatising to her new life here," Fury said, "such a change would be overwhelming for anyone."

"You know," Wanda said, getting up out of her chair and stretching enough for some audible popping and cracking, "she would have hated us talking about her this much. Viz would have been fascinated though, he was enamoured by the human condition," she gave a small bittersweet smile, "bet Stark would have tried to turn it round onto him though."

Clint laughed. "If Stark was here he'd be acting the whole thing out."

"Surely he'd have more respect?" Laura said.

"Man didn't say he'd be acting it badly," Fury said and the room laughed a little, easing the tension and Clint was glad to have pushed Steve into unburdening himself a little bit more. He hoped it was enough. Though, in truth, he didn't know how much energy he had left for the emotionally fraught moments that kept cropping up.

As selfish as it felt to think, all he wanted to do was clear out the house so he could grieve. And that was something like progress to him because before the journals came into his life he had no interest in feeling the feelings that dogged him.

"We should see how the kids are doing," Laura said and he followed her to the back door while everyone else did whatever they needed to do. As they stepped outside they caught sight of the three other Bartons and looked at their youngest in dismay.

"Your son is a mess," Laura said as they watched the kids traipse back towards the house.

"Why is he just my son when he's messy?"

"Because he didn't inherit that from me."

Coop and Lila weren't that much worse for wear, they smiled from under a sheen of sweat and seemed pleased with themselves. Nate was an entirely different story. His clothes were covered in dirt and it had spread to his face and hands, there were a couple of feathers in his hair and yet he still had the biggest smile.

"What did you do to your brother?"

They looked at each other then looked back at their parents and shrugged.

"Let him burn off some energy," Coop said.

"Yeah, you know, give the chickens a little taste of their own medicine," Lila corroborated.

"And if he fell a couple of times..."

"Well, that's what happens when you don't look where you're going." Lila nudged Nate with her knee at the last bit and he looked a little abashed at the reminder. Clint looked him over for any injury but he wasn't too concerned, he knew the other two would have been all over him to make sure he was okay and if they were even the slightest bit worried they would have carried him back straight away.

"Right, you," Laura said and picked a feather out from what was now an unruly mop atop his head, "bath. Dad will help."

"But mum," both chorused and she managed to hold her smile back.

"You are not walking around this house covered head to foot in dirt and grime. Bath. Now."

Laura went back inside. The older kids pulled off their wellies and left them scattered on the decking. As Nate continued to struggle out of his, Clint tidied up after them and then took pity on the straggler. "Come 'ere."

Nate used his heels to drag himself across the floor then stuck his feet up in the air. Clint pulled each of them off without much effort but his hands were left smeared in mud. He didn't bother wiping it off, there was no way he was going to let Nate roam through the house until he was clean, so he grabbed him under the arms, his clothes dirtier than Clint's hands, and held him out at arm's length. Which proved to be a test of strength because he had definitely gotten heavier since the last time.

Clint got to the main bathroom, set his son down, pulled out the empty laundry basket and turned to fill the tub. "Clothes straight in there, buddy."

By the time the last traces of dirt had come loose, the room was full of steam that clung to every surface. "Mama opens window," Nate said knowingly when Clint swiped at his forehead to get rid of the sweat.

"Yeah, well, mama also doesn't throw herself into the dirt in the chicken coop," Clint muttered, "so I'm not the only one who's done something silly here."

When he announced himself clean and all the water had drained away, Clint scooped Nate up in a fluffy towel and took him to his room. "Get dry and get dressed and maybe there'll be some lunch when we get downstairs."

"Promise?"

"No, that's why I said maybe."

"Will we read more of that story?"

Clint looked at Nate for a couple of seconds, who was now in a fresh pair of jeans, and wondered what he should say. He picked up a clean jumper for the boy while he was thinking.

"Buddy, it's not a story. What we're reading actually happened."

"Oh," he said, "I think I don't like that."

"I don't think any of us do."

"I wish it was a - a story."

"Me too."

A beat of silence.

"Dad?"

"Yeah."

"What happened, right, did it happen to auntie Nat?" Clint nodded. "Why is she so sad?"

"Because she was lonely," Clint answered, knowing full well the answer was more complex than that and not really knowing which part to share or how to help him understand something he wasn't old enough to comprehend.

"Why weren't you with her?"

"I was angry."

"At auntie Nat?" And there was no small amount of surprise in his voice.

"I thought so, but not really."

"Who then?"

"Everything. The world mostly."

"Why?"

"Because all you guys were gone. My whole family."

"Not your whole family," he said then wiped his nose on his hand, which he then wiped on the jeans and Clint held back a sigh.

"What do you mean?"

"Auntie Nat. She's family," he said with the type of certainty that gets lost with age. "She would have looked after you," Nate patted Clint's leg then ran to the door and Clint watched him turn back with a thoughtful glance, "maybe you'd be less angry and she'd be less lonely."

"Maybe."

The boy turned and paused again, his hand rested against the side of the door and his shoulders slumped. Somehow Clint knew what was coming next, but that didn't make him more prepared.

"Dad?"

"Yeah."

"Are we really never going to see her again? Really?"

"Really."

"I think I don't like that either."

"No, buddy," Clint cleared his throat, "me neither."

As if a switch had flipped, Nate's shoulders unslumped and Clint found himself without much time to ponder the profundity of their conversation. The jumper was still in his hand as he watched his youngest slip out of the door, throwing a mischievous smile over his shoulder that said he was about to terrorise the household in his half naked state.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

Laura could, though, if he yelled loud enough.

"Nathanial Pietro Barton, you get back here and put your jumper on right now."