Epilogue: The Long Road Home
Months passed.
In the blink of an eye, the sweltering heat of summer gave way to a crisp, clear autumn of chilly days and glittering nights, heralding a winter as cold and dark as I'd ever known. The first snow hit hard, and amongst driving blizzards, Lila's birthday, Thanksgiving, and Nat's memorial all passed in a flash, blurring together in a murky haze of light and sound. Christmas followed; subdued, bittersweet, a poignant reminder of time apart and absent friends, and then I was huddled amongst my family in the freezing town square, half-heartedly counting down the seconds to a Happy New Year. I hoped it would be.
The end of the holiday season came as a relief; at work, I was just too busy to think of much else. Since becoming Director it felt as if my feet had hardly touched the floor, and the Foundation itself was growing from strength to strength with no sign of stopping. Support groups spread like wildfire, just as I'd hoped, with each connection bringing new hope and opportunities. Our reunification work, too, continued with breakneck speed, despite the creeping shadow of the Global Repatriation Council. By mid-November, we'd successfully reunited over eighty percent of Blipped Missouran children with their families, and I hoped that by March we'd be able to announce the outright closure of Blip Centre 43. That in itself was an impressive achievement, unmatched anywhere in the States, but all it showed me was how much more was left to do. How could I possibly sit on my laurels while untold millions were waiting to be reunited with their loved ones? Too many had suffered for too long for me to rest now.
Strange popped by from time to time, ostensibly to check up on Lydia. At first, I was desperate for news about Ellie and Thera; were they okay? Were they even alive? I'd heard nothing since the day they'd left. On that subject Strange remained carefully, even diplomatically enigmatic, and after a while I'd simply learned to stop asking. Maybe it was better not to know; I decided. There was so much to do and so much riding on getting it done. I simply couldn't afford to get distracted…
…but there were times, late at night, when I'd stare up into the cold, dark sky with its myriad of twinkling stars, and wonder if she was staring back.
Spring brought sleet and slush in equal measure, with grim grey clouds that did very little to lift my mood. Luckily, Clint was on the case; having appointed himself my Chief Morale Officer, he'd installed a car karaoke app at some point during the Christmas vacation. I'd been hooked the instant he booted it up, and now I spent each and every morning commute belting out up-tempo songs from yesteryear as I rumbled down the interstate.
"—going off the rails on a crazy train!" I half-sang, half-shouted. It was a guilty pleasure, to be sure, but pleasure of any sort seemed to be in increasingly short supply these days. As I thought that cheery little thought, the song dimmed and Lydia's voice came through the car speakers.
"Good morning, Laura!" she said happily. "I see you are attempting to master the works of Ozzy Osbourne! Do you require assistance?"
"C'mon, Lydia," I snorted. "I saw him live! I know what I'm doing!"
"Your attempts certainly do not lack confidence!" Lydia said. "If you wish, I could apply an element of pitch correction—"
"I don't need pitch correction!"
"My analysis of your last…outburst would suggest otherwise."
"Like you could do any better," I muttered. "Besides, we've talked about this; no magic! No pitch correction, no photographic recall, no enhanced fitness—"
"Should I disable night vision, then?"
"Well…" I hesitated. "Maybe keep the night vision. 'Saves on the electricity bill."
"And telekinesis?"
I paused. "Where are we on that, by the way?"
"With a bit more practice, I believe you should be able to manipulate objects of the approximate size and mass of an apple!"
"Well… it's not an Arachnid, but it'll do for Hallowe'en. Was there anything else?"
"Yes. Based upon an analysis of your blood sugar levels, you will need to eat lunch at twelve-thirty and dinner at nineteen-fifteen. Following yesterday's dietary imbalances, please take additional care to moderate your sodium intake."
"This is about those potato chips, isn't it," I said sourly. "I was working late!"
"Your hydration pattern remains unchanged," continued Lydia, ignoring my protests. "As usual, I would recommend lowering your caffeine intake, but since previous data indicates that this recommendation leads to an increase in caffeine intake, I will instead say nothing further on the matter."
"Glad to hear it," I said, with a victorious smile. The I.M.P. might be tenacious, but apparently even she had her limits. "Is that everything?"
"Just a reminder that you have a meeting with Patricia at ten-thirty regarding the banners for the upcoming 'fun run', and a teleconference with a Ms. Parker of the Salvation Army at twelve. In addition, the developers of an app called 'BlipSync' have emailed you regarding—"
"—I've got it, Lydia, thanks," I sighed, and ran my fingers through my hair. Okay, I'd open the office, get some of that really good coffee going, maybe fend off those tech bros before Patti smothered me in colour swatches…yup, it was definitely shaping up to be one of those days. Just like every day.
By now, I must've commuted this way a hundred times or more, but it never failed to elicit a pang of nostalgia. I'd ruffled more than a few feathers when I'd announced that I was moving the Foundation out of Keame Refineries, and then yet more when I'd nominated Thera's old haunt as our new base of operations. After all, who in their right mind would willingly set up shop on the site of a ruined sporting goods warehouse in the middle of nowhere? Even I had to admit that it was a hard sell, but held firm in my decision nonetheless. To my detractors, I claimed that it was a vital symbolic gesture —to demonstrate that we'd truly cut ties with the Keame family— but in reality it was far more than that. That twisted, molten heap of scrap metal was where it'd all begun, and it was important to me that we kept the home fires burning. Like a beacon, in case they ever came back.
It hadn't hurt, of course, that the land had been so cheap. Perhaps unsurprisingly, nobody'd wanted a site that was infested by some potential 'Xenohazard', and Ronin's explosive departure was now nothing less than a local legend. When the previous owners had heard I was snooping around, they'd all but bitten my hand off — and while I was sure they thought I was nothing more than some giddy fool playing with someone else's money, I had something they didn't. I had Clint, and through Clint I had a direct line to a certain Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries, with all the benefits that entailed…
The parking lot was empty when I arrived. That wasn't surprising; I was almost always the first one to work, and that suited me just fine. Those dark, tranquil hours were my chance to centre myself, and I guarded them jealously. It was a brave, brave individual who came knocking at my door before my second cup of coffee, and even my family knew the rules: unless someone's leg was hanging off, whatever it was could wait 'till lunch.
It wasn't just about the work, though. There were times, particularly when it felt like the world was bearing down on me, when I liked to stand in the parking lot and remind myself just how far we'd come. The warehouse was gone; Clint had made the call the instant the deed was in my hands, and the very next day a swarm of StarkTech drones descended out of clear blue skies. I'd watched, remotely, as they got to work with terrifying efficiency; cutting, carving, and tearing away at the broken shell until no sign of it remained. The day after that saw the arrival of five self-driving trucks, packed to the gills with steel, glass, and pre-poured concrete slabs. Once again the drones sprung into action, and when the sun went down a brand new Foundation HQ stood alone in the lot, glowing softly beneath the light of an ethereal winter moon. To an outsider, it may not have looked like much; a simple prefab building in a world where such things were now a fact of life, but this one was different. It was mine.
These days, it wasn't even alone. As time passed, the Foundation had grown not only as a charity, but as a community. People stopped by to chat, to connect, to feel a part of the world once again. Where we saw growth, some of our cannier attendees saw opportunity, and before long I was being bombarded with proposals for all kinds of services: legal aid, food banks, a cafe, a creche, even a dance studio! Each month brought a new swarm of drones, a new building, and little by little the charity in the 'middle of nowhere' became quite the bustling little neighbourhood. Most of the arrivals I celebrated, but there were one or two where I had to bite my tongue and remind myself that it wasn't just about me. Erin and Juan's coffee shop was one; on an intellectual level, I knew it was a valuable addition to the campus, and their hard work drew people in from miles around. Even so, it would be a cold, dark day in hell before I set foot in there, and an even darker day before I actually bought something from my one-time attempted murderers. I considered myself a pretty forgiving person, but even I had my limits.
With a jangle of keys, I unlocked the Foundation's main doors. They swung inwards, moving smoothly and silently on well-oiled hinges, and as they did the atrium came to life with a warm, welcoming light. It was an impressive space; fully two storeys tall with a clear glass ceiling, dressed in soothing hues of blue and green. Most of it was still fairly plain, but shimmering letters of laser-cut steel were embedded in the far wall, proclaiming loudly:
THE FOUNDATION
NOT OKAY? THAT'S OKAY.
I padded across the floor, skirting past reception and private booths as I headed for the stairs. Right now, the atrium felt like hallowed ground; peaceful, silent, but I knew full well that later it would be ringing with the sounds of the day-to-day. There would be Summers, barking orders from the main desk, aid workers buzzing across the floor, helping those they could and referring those they couldn't, and the emotional thrum of the group sessions, held in the now-empty circle of chairs in the far corner. Sure, sometimes it was almost deafening, but so what? This was where the real work was done; this was where we helped people see that tomorrow could be better than today. If we couldn't, then what was the point?
With an irritated growl, I dismissed that thought and strode up to the mezzanine. Up here, there were several long desks, intended for use by hot-desking Foundation employees, and my office; a glass-fronted aquarium of a room overlooking the hall below. At first, I'd been pretty cool on it; after all, it meant that everyone could see what I was doing, all the time. In the end, though, I learnt to simply get my head down and block out any onlookers. I was meant to be the face of the Foundation, after all, and if I was encouraging my supposed subordinates by setting a good public example, then I could live with a little less privacy.
My office door beeped gently at the touch of my swipe card, and I shouldered my way into my office. First things first; I'd make some coffee. Maybe two cups, if I felt the need. Then I'd review the reports from yesterday, double-check the agenda for my meeting with this Maybelle woman later, and then—
A soft chime rang in the air. I stopped, puzzled, and looked around for the source of the noise. There wasn't anyone else here, was there? There couldn't be! I'd unlocked the building myself, and on the off chance that someone had been locked in overnight, where would they have gotten their hands on a bell? And why did it sound so familiar?
There was another chime, and the air around my plush executive chair began to ripple and shine brightly. I stared in slack-jawed shock for just a moment before common sense took over, and I backed towards the door.
"Uh, Lydia?" I said, as I fumbled for the handle. "What's going on?"
My phone buzzed. "Hi Laura, I have detected a region of increased thaumic activity! It is located—"
"I see it, Lydia! What should I do?"
"In the absence of additional information or armed backup, I would recommend an immediate evacuation!"
"Oh, I wouldn't do a silly thing like that, sweetie," someone said, with a mischievous chuckle. The ripples became sparkles, which coalesced to reveal a slender woman in black fatigues, reclining casually on my chair. "Or should I say, 'Director Barton'."
My jaw dropped, and for the second time in as many seconds I found myself staring dumbly while my brain scrabbled futilely for something to say. Finally, I stammered out, "E-Ellie? Is that you?"
"In the flesh! Oh, and Sparky's here too," she said, and nudged something behind the table with her foot. "Say hello, Sparky!"
A hand appeared over the top of the table and waved indistinctly in my direction. "Hi Laura, Lydia. Sorry about this, but you know how she is."
"I know she's in my seat," I said tartly. Months of directorship had taught me to recover quickly, but I still had to hide my smile as I jerked a thumb over my shoulder. "C'mon you; out!"
With a cheeky grin, Ellie leapt off my chair and hauled Thera to his feet. He was dressed in the same shimmering, silvery uniform as before, only now instead of a beanie he was sporting a smart beret adorned with an intricate cap badge. Our gazes met and he nodded once in greeting.
"Good to see you again," he said warmly. "You alright, mate?"
"I've been…busy," I said, and my smile finally forced its way to the surface. "But never mind me; how're you guys doing? Are you okay? How's your family? Did you get your house back? Did—"
"Whoa there!" Ellie laughed, and bounded around my desk to give me a hug. "One question at a time, Director!"
"I know, I know!" I said. "It's just…Christ, I was beginning to think I'd never see you again!"
Her expression clouded, just for an instant. "I'm sorry, Laura. Honestly, we wanted to come see you earlier, but it's been…"
"...complicated," Thera finished, somewhat wryly. "Very, very complicated."
"I suppose that's one way of putting it," Ellie said. "In short: our family's still completely nuts, our home's now a museum-slash-memorial-slash-cafe, someone looted my studio and sold all my paintings, and…oh yeah—" she added, almost as an aside. "—we got married. Finally."
"You what?" I asked. She held up her hand in response, and a smokey grey wedding band glowed dully in the light. "When did this happen?"
"'bout two months ago. We wanted a small, private ceremony, so…"
"Naturally, it ended up being us, our family, our friends, their friends, half the Order, a sixty-person choir, various royalty, dignitaries, journalists, a fifty-foot-tall marble statue of the Goddess herself, and the Mother Superior," said Thera. "You know, cosy."
"I said we wanted one," Ellie smiled archly at her husband. "But you know Ursula; she doesn't miss a trick."
"Yeah, no way was she going to pass up on the opportunity to show us off," he said. "It was very 'Hey, you see these two recently-resurrected Empowered, who I'm marrying, in my cathedral? Remember who owns them.'."
She giggled. "You're such a cynic, Sparky! I mean, you're right, but you're still a cynic."
"From the way you're talking, it sounds like it was amazing," I said warmly. "Congratulations!"
"Thanks, Laura," Ellie said. "Weirdly, it didn't really sink in until one of the waitresses asked me if my husband wanted some coffee, and I said 'I don't have a husband— oooh, shit.'.
"That's pretty much verbatim, too. Such language!" Thera added, with a mournful shake of his head. "The Duchess of Clarendon was so scandalised she almost fainted dead away!"
"Good. Too bad she wasn't closer to the stairs."
I coughed. "In any case, I think this calls for a toast, don't you? To the happy couple."
Ellie gave me a quizzical look. "You have booze? Here?"
"Well, no," I admitted. "But I've got some new grounds I'm dying to try out, so…"
"Oh; that sounds like an excellent idea. I'd love a coffee," she said, with a grateful smile. "After the day we've been having, that sounds even better than booze."
"Glad to hear it," I pointed at a couple of office chairs, standing side by side near the door. "Make yourselves at home, okay? This'll only take a sec."
The sounds of moving furniture filled the air as I turned away to a low wooden sideboard. My new coffee machine —bought by Clint as a 'moving-in' present— took pride of place centre stage, and was flanked by everything I could possibly need to make a decent cup of joe. If I was being honest, it wasn't quite as good as my antique model back home, but it was much faster and, as a bonus, didn't try to murder any would-be operators with high pressure gouts of steam. Nobody needed to see that.
"I have to admit, I love what you've done with the place," Thera said, and I heard him flop down on a chair. "I figured you'd still be at the Blip Centre, but this? Wow."
"Not bad, right?" I threw a self-satisfied grin over my shoulder. "And you know, if we keep growing like this we may end up having to upscale."
"So it's going well, then?"
"Better than ever!" I said brightly, as I tipped my new grounds into the machine. It beeped and hummed in a vaguely encouraging fashion while I dug out fresh cups from the cabinet. "In fact, I've got a meeting with someone from the Salvation Army later — and get this; she knows Spider-Man! Can you imagine how much extra publicity the Foundation could get if we got him on side?"
"Spider-Man?" Ellie sounded a little puzzled. "Which one's he again? Sorry, but you guys have so many oddballs it's kind of hard to keep up."
I turned and gave her a flat look. "He's the one with the spider motif, Ellie. Clue's in the name."
"Ah, yes," she said, and yawned. "Silly of me to ask, really."
"Stark found him just before Schkeuditz. Clint said he spent most of the time following him around like a lost puppy," I said. "But now Stark's dead, he's been making a name for himself taking on New York's criminal underworld. Street crime, gang warfare…even some of the larger crime families. Wreaking havoc, apparently."
"Sounds a bit like Ronin, if you ask me."
The machine signalled its readiness, and at the push of a button dispensed an equal measure of steaming black liquid into the two waiting mugs. I handed them both to Ellie, who accepted them with another grateful smile, and then went back to make my own.
"Yeah," I said, as I sank into the welcoming embrace of my executive chair. "But Spider-Man doesn't chop people into little pieces; he just webs them up and leaves them for the authorities."
"What, alive?" Ellie looked surprised. "He doesn't…drain them first?"
"No, he doesn't 'drain them first'."
"Some bloody spider he is. I'd at least have a nibble."
"You would," I rolled my eyes. "But from what I've heard, the locals love their 'friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man'. He even has a theme song!"
"Really?" Ellie said, and then her eyes went wide. "You know, you don't have to—"
"Spider-Man, Spider-Man, does whatever a spider can! Spins a web, any size — catches thieves, just like flies! Look out! Here comes the Spider-Man!" I sang brightly. "What do you think?"
"I think singing that bad should be considered slander," Thera remarked, without looking up from his coffee. "And I don't see the problem. If the criminals really want rid of him, why don't they do what everyone else does?"
I gave him a suspicious look. "Which is…?"
"Club together, buy an enormous glass, trap him under said glass, slide a card under it, and shake him out at the city limits. Rinse and repeat," he said, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. "Or get him a girlfriend."
"And how would that help?"
"He has a head, right?"
"What?" I frowned in confusion. "Yes, he has a head!"
"So he's still a virgin, then," Thera nudged Ellie. "You see where I'm going with this, right?"
She sighed, wearily. "My love, why is it that when most people hear 'does whatever a spider can' they think of spinning webs and climbing up walls, but you go straight for sexual cannibalism?"
"Because I like to think outside the box? Bonus points if they hook him up with a Black Widow," he said, with a grin. "And it puts a whole new spin on the phrase 'giving hea—'"
"Sparky!" Ellie said, and looked at me. "Let's change the subject, shall we?"
"Let's," I agreed. "So why are you here?"
She frowned. "What do you mean? We're here to see you!"
"No, I mean really," I said, and this time she looked a little hurt. "Sorry — that came out wrong. I mean…it's lovely to see you, and I'm so glad you're okay, but you've come a long way just to have a coffee and a chat."
"Well…"
"Something's up, isn't it."
Thera and Ellie shared a brief uncomfortable look. Finally, he downed his coffee in a single gulp and leaned forward.
"I suppose you deserve to know, and you're only going to worry otherwise," he said. "Okay; I know that Strange has been checking up on you; has he…told you anything?"
"Who, Strange? Be serious, Thera," I laughed humourlessly. "He made a point of dancing around the point. It's been like getting blood from a stone."
"That doesn't really surprise me. The guy is part of a super-secret book club, after all," Thera observed. "And we know he's been having to tread carefully."
"Really? Why?"
"Because during the Blip, some of the surviving sorcerers formed a…well, an extremist sect," said Ellie. "According to them, the only way to ensure the planet's safety is to eliminate anyone and anything with even a smidgeon of mystical capability."
"Including you?"
"Including you, thanks to Lydia," she said bluntly. "And following the supposed 'trail of destruction' we left in our wake last time we were here, Wong decided it would be more…politically expedient to use home-grown talent instead of calling us in."
"Uh-huh. So what changed? I mean, you're here now, so…"
"Well…" She hesitated. "Did you hear about this tornado a month or so ago? It was over in…oh, drat, what's it called again…"
"Ohio?" Thera supplied.
"Right, that place."
"You mean the New Year's Tornado? The one that broke almost all records? Of course I did!" I said, and frowned. "But wait; how did you hear about it?"
"Because it wasn't a tornado," she said ominously. "And we heard about it because we got a call from Strange. I mean, I say 'call' but what I actually mean is that he portalled into our honeymoon suite looking like he'd been mauled by a bear. Nearly killed the mood."
"'Nearly'?" I said, and saw the amusement dancing in her eyes. "You know what? Never mind. So what happened? What was it?"
"Something unpleasant. Smart, too," she said. "Most entities are just mindless forces of nature, but this one was cunning enough to lure the Masters out before it really went to town. By the time we'd turned up it'd eaten four of 'em and put another twelve in the hospital."
"Christ!" I leaned in. "So what did you do?"
"Our job, as best as we could in all that leather," she said, with a mischievous little smile. "Between us and the remaining Masters, we finally managed to banish it about ten miles outside of…um…"
"Columbus?" Thera supplied again, and she glowered. "Don't look at me like that! I listened to the brief!"
"There wasn't a brief! He just gasped 'Demonic tornado!' and collapsed like a sack of spuds!"
"Yeah, but you know Strange; you've got to listen to what he doesn't say."
"Hold on; are those things common?" I asked, a little anxiously. "You know we get tornadoes here, too."
"You can relax, sweetie," Ellie laughed. "Not everything is a soul-sucking abomination from beyond the veil."
"I was hoping for a little more reassurance than that," I took a sip of my coffee. It was surprisingly good. "Okay, so you took that thing out - but why're you here now?"
"Well, that's the weird bit. You see—" Ellie dug into her pocket and pulled out a carefully-folded three-by-five photograph, which she handed to me. "—it came back."
I looked at the photo and felt a thrill of fear. The image was blurry at best, but I could easily make out a menacing funnel cloud, looming over an ornate stone belltower. Maybe it was the angle, or the way the light caught the tempest, but it seemed as if there were two enormous eyes glowing deep within. They stared at me, twisted with unutterable rage, and with a shudder I handed the picture back to Ellie.
"Yeah. That's not meant to happen," she said. "As far as we can tell, being banished is kind of like being forced through an interdimensional bacon-slicer. Most intruders learn their lesson the first time around."
"But not this thing?"
"That's what we thought. It turned up yesterday with no warning, blew through a town called Ixtenco, and…vanished. When Strange got wind of it, he wasted no time in sending us down to investigate. Didn't want to be caught short a second time, I guess."
"And what did you find?"
"Nothing," Thera said. "Okay, we found a genuinely prodigious degree of devastation, but nothing, y'know, supernatural. No residue, no echoes, and all the injuries and fatalities I dealt with were entirely mundane in nature. Either that thing's suddenly worked out how to cover its tracks better than any entity I've ever seen, myself included, or…"
"Or what?"
"...or it's a trick. A copycat, or a coincidence, or…something."
"A trick?" I raised my eyebrows incredulously. "Who could do a thing like that? And why?"
"I don't know. If I had to guess, I'd wager it was some hitherto unknown player using hitherto unknown tech to achieve some hitherto unknown, but poorly-defined objective," he said, with a shrug. "Or it's StarkTech running amok. Or it's both."
"Or it was a real tornado. I hear those happen occasionally," Ellie said dryly. "But you're right; all we know is that whatever happened in Ixtenco…well, it wasn't magical."
"So what now?" I asked. "Are you going to investigate further?"
"Nope. Strange made it pretty clear that it's Fury's problem, and we don't work for Fury. Hell, we barely work for Strange."
"Maybe that Spider-Man guy can handle it," said Thera. "Assuming he still has a head by that point—"
She scowled. "You're not letting that go in a hurry, are you."
"Hey, at least I'm rooting for him. Everyone deserves a chance at love, don't they?"
"So anyway, that's why we're here — and since we didn't have to fight an enraged weather system to the death, we figured that we'd use our newfound freedom to swing by and see how you're doing," Ellie leaned back in her seat. "So how are you doing, Laura? I mean, really."
I felt my fingers tighten reflexively around my coffee mug. If I was being honest, part of me had known this was coming from the instant they'd appeared in my office, but all of a sudden I felt quite defensive. While I might be glad to see they were alive and doing their part, that didn't mean that I wanted them to start blundering through my psyche like a bull in a china shop. Once was quite enough, thank you very much!
Ellie raised an eyebrow. "Laura?"
"What?" I said, maybe a touch more gruffly than I'd intended. "I'm fine. Really. Like I said, I've just been…very busy."
"Everyone's 'very busy', Laura," she said, blandly. "So don't try to palm me off with that nonsense."
"What do you want me to say? It's the truth!"
"Mmm-hmm. Okay, we'll try this from another angle," she said. "Are you getting help?"
"Well, I…" I trailed off, and she gave me a look that was half disappointment, half disapproval.
"You promised me, Laura. Remember?"
"I know! I'm…I'm talking to Clint," I said, and her disapproval deepened. "Look, I'm doing the best I can! Do you want to know what the waiting time for a therapist is right now? Eight months!"
"What, and you can't get help through your own organisation?"
"I—" I took a calming breath. "You have no idea what it's like here, Ellie! In a couple of hours, those doors down there will open and we'll be playing host to a bunch of people who have lost their homes, their jobs, their families; everything! We don't have enough trained staff as it is, so how can I possibly go down there and demand that they see me before anyone else?"
"Now where have I heard that before?" Ellie said, with a sidelong glance at Thera.
"She's not wrong, dear — but then, neither are you," he said, and looked over at me. "So, does Clint help?"
"We help each other," I said shortly. "Every Thursday evening, we leave the kids with Maisie and go for a drive. We call it 'Talky Thursday'."
"And what do you talk about?"
"Everything. There's only three rules; no secrets, no judgement, and whatever we talk about in the car, stays in the car," I hesitated. "I've learned a lot, but some of it is…pretty hard to listen to."
Ellie's expression was still disapproving, but I thought I saw a flicker of sympathy in her eyes. "I can imagine."
"So how is Clint doing?" Thera asked, in a tone that clearly indicated he was changing the subject. "Still getting used to having you guys around?"
"He's…still adjusting, I think. I guess it's hard to go from being on the run for five years to being a stay-at-home dad," I said, with a wistful smile. "And I think he found Lila's birthday party a bit overwhelming. I mean, her's always are, but…"
"But what?"
"It's like he's scared to get too comfortable. I think he's scared he'll wake up one day and discover that this was all just a dream — and I get it, but—" I waved my hands in the air. "—what do you do about something like that?"
"Continue existing, I guess," Thera said. "Prove him wrong."
"I was hoping for something a little more immediate, but…" I shrugged. "Yeah. That's what I thought."
"Sorry."
"Don't be. The kids have been great with him, too; really patient. Probably more patient than me, in fact," I said, with a rueful grimace. "In fact, it was their idea to have a quiet Christmas instead of the great big blowout that we normally do — and believe me, our kids love Christmas."
Thera looked a little perplexed. "Christmas?"
"Oh, I know that one!" said Ellie. "It's where good boys and girls get burgled by a morbidly obese walking advert for a fizzy drinks company. We call it Midwinter's."
"You mean the one we celebrate in summer? On the beach?"
"I don't make the rules, Sparky," she said, and looked back at me. "So how was it?"
"...weird," I said eventually. "A bit depressing, honestly."
"'Sounds about right," said Ellie. "Normally Midwinter's is a massive piss-up, but this year? Fifty thousand people, staring silently out to sea. It was like we'd joined a cult."
"At least we weren't the only ones, I guess," I said. "But who cares if it was a bit subdued? Next year will be better! In fact, Clint's already talking about taking a trip to New York."
She brightened. "Well, that sounds positive."
"You think?"
"Sure! It means he thinks there's going to be a 'next year'."
"You know, I hadn't thought about it like that," I smiled. "And if I can't get time off, then at least he can have some quality time with the kids. Did you hear they've opened auditions for 'Rogers: The Musical'?"
"No. Maybe that was something else Strange 'didn't say'," Ellie said, with an arch look at her husband. "But they're making a musical about Captain America? No fair! Nobody writes songs about us!"
"Do insulting limericks count?" asked Thera.
"You know they don't," she said irritably, and gave me a quizzical look. "You going to see it?"
"That's the plan," I said. "Opening night, if we can swing it."
"That's brave of Clint," said Ellie, and added, "I mean, no matter how catchy those songs are, I'm not sure I could handle seeing my dead mates reduced to prancing caricatures."
"We'll see, I guess. It's his choice," I said. "And I'm sure the kids'll love it."
"Hopefully. So how're they doing?"
"Same as Clint; some days are tougher than others," I said. "They've all had nightmares about being Snapped. Even Nate, and I'd hoped he'd be too young to remember what happened."
"Kids remember more than you think, I'm afraid," Thera said grimly. "Let me guess; vivid, recurring nightmares?"
"Vivid enough to make me glad I don't dream anymore," I said, and added sadly. "They sound horrible, Thera. Really horrible."
"I know. I've had them."
"We both have," Ellie said, and gave me a reassuring look. "They'll pass, Laura. I promise."
"I hope you're right. Between those, Nat's death, Clint going deaf, and Lydia…" I tapped on the side of my head. "It's so much to take in. I'm amazed they're doing as well as they are."
Thera's eyebrows jumped. "You told them about Lydia?"
"I had to! Do you know how difficult it is to keep her quiet? I've got half the Foundation asking me where I got that 'healthcare app' from!"
"So how'd it go?"
"Badly. Nobody likes being told their mom was at death's door," I winced at the memory. "Coop mostly ignores her, but Lila's now decided that I'm her cool 'cyborg mom' and Lydia's the sister she never had. They have some…interesting conversations."
"No doubt," he chuckled. "I still remember being forced to watch that show of hers. You know, the one with the exploding unicorns?"
"She's moved on from that. Her and Allegra have decided they're going to become Jedi Knights," I said, and sighed dolefully. "You know, it's funny that that doesn't sound quite as ridiculous as it used to."
"Sign of the times," Ellie agreed, and then her expression turned intent. "Okay, Laura; what's wrong?"
"I told you; there's nothing wrong! I'm fine!" I said, and added rather lamely. "Really!"
"People don't sigh like that if they're 'fine'," she said. "Listen, if you want me to back off, I'll back off, but I'm your friend and I know that something's bothering you. What is it?"
"I…" I hesitated. "No; never mind. It's stupid."
"Of that I have no doubt, but that doesn't mean it's not important. Out with it."
Ellie's gaze bored into me as I paused to gather my thoughts. I remembered that look, from what now felt like the distant past. It was the look of a woman who'd scented blood, and I knew full well that getting her off my case would be tricky at best. With another sigh, I set my mug down on the table and settled back in my chair.
"So, um…" I began hesitantly. "Do you ever think about how your life would be different? If the Snap hadn't happened, I mean."
"Well, sure. For a start, I'd be five years older," she said, with a crooked smile. "Why?"
"Because one Talky Thursday, Clint and I were chatting about how they took down Thanos after the Blip. You know, the one that came from that alternate timeline?"
"You mean stunt-double Thanos?"
"Yeah," I nodded. "And that got me thinking; if that Thanos died here, that means there's this whole other universe who never had to deal with him! There's a whole other Laura who was never Snapped, never Blipped…and she's just spent the last five years living peacefully with her family. Her normal, happy family. At home."
There was a brief silence, and then, "That's true. Good for her!"
"But doesn't that annoy you?" I asked. "It doesn't upset you that somewhere out there's an Ellie who's living a charmed life, while you're stuck fighting demon tornadoes as Strange's subcontractor?"
"Why would it? She's not me. I'm me, and I've got everything I ever wanted right here," she playfully ruffled Thera's hair, and then gave me a sly look. "It sounds like it's annoyed you, though."
"Maybe, a bit," I admitted wryly. "I mean, c'mon; she's never going to have to deal with half the shit I've dealt with! Nat? Still alive! Ronin? Not a thing! Blacknest? Never existed — and because that bottom-feeder Pexley never cleaned her clock, she doesn't have brain damage or a magic supercomputer lodged in her head! How can I not be a little bit jealous of her?"
"Well, when you put it like that—"
"But then it hit me; she'll probably live out her entire life in that farmstead. Never going anywhere, never doing anything, never meeting people like you, I guess," I said, and Ellie chuckled softly in response. "The kids'll grow up, move out, and then she'll just kinda… haunt the place, never really knowing what lies just beyond those gates."
Thera looked up sharply, his brow furrowed. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that that sounds like pity."
"Well, I don't know!" I threw up my hands. "I miss the days when my life was perfect and everything made sense, but…"
He inclined his head. "But what?"
"Now I feel like I'm doing something!" I said, and a smile came unbidden to my lips. "Every day, the Foundation helps hundreds of people; we've reunited families, saved lives, and built a community where people can feel safe and heard! It's hard —sometimes it's really hard— but at least I can go home at the end of the day feeling like I've contributed something to society!"
"Yeah, I know that feeling," he grinned. "So what's the problem?"
"The Snap's the problem!" I said. "I hate that it happened, I hate that my family was torn apart, and I hate that Clint was put through five years of utter shit — but without it, I'd never have met you guys, never gotten that push, and never realised just how glad I am to be alive or how much I took my life for granted!" I paused, and gave them both a weak smile. "I'm…just not sure how I'm meant to feel about that."
Thera appeared to consider this, and then he nudged Ellie and said, "You know, I reckon now's as good a time as any to show her the thing."
"The thing?" Ellie looked perplexed, and then her eyes widened. "Oh, right! The thing!"
"What 'thing'?" I asked suspiciously. She held up a finger in response, and then dug into a breast pocket and pulled out a small…something, carefully wrapped in fine red silk. "What's that?"
"It's, um, it's for Clint, if you're wondering," she said, as she handed it over. I felt a small stab of disappointment at that, but carefully unwrapped it to find a burnished lapel pin, elaborately fashioned in a stylised representation of a hawk's head. I turned it over in my hand, and a single dark blue stone glimmered in its eye socket. I raised an eyebrow.
"Dare I ask why you're buying my husband jewellery?" I carefully tapped the inlaid stone. "And is this a sapphire?"
Ellie snorted. "Hah! You wish."
"So what is it?"
"Rodusite. Seemed appropriate," she said. "And as for why? Well, it turns out I have a bit of a bone to pick with Clint."
"What? Why?"
"Because before the Blip, I could look at the shooting range scores and tell myself, 'It's okay, Ellie; they're only human. Sure, they might not be able to hit the broad side of a barn from the inside, but you know what? They're trying!'."
"That's kinda patronising, don't you think?" I said. "Then again, why change the habits of a lifetime?"
"Believe me, Laura; I'm pretty sure I could bring the Order to its knees overnight just by swapping the 'pull' and 'push' signs — but that's not the point!" she said. "The point is that he's ruined me for poor marksmanship! If he, a common-or-garden human, can shoot down a god without even looking, then what excuse do others have?"
"Not much, I'm guessing," I said, and held up the lapel pin. "But how does this come into it?"
"Because I decided something had to change," she said firmly. "So I looked at what we were currently doing, and then I went back to basics. I dug out textbooks, interviewed elite sharpshooters, and me and a couple of the actual trainers have been putting together an advanced programme to bring the Order back up to par — and possibly beyond," she said. "Maybe I'll never shoot as well as Clint, but there may be someone else who does. I promise you, I'm going to find that person, and I'm going to train them until they can shoot the bollocks off a gnat at fifty metres!"
"Wow. That's…quite a goal," I said, and looked hard at her expression. "You're really serious about this, aren't you?"
"As serious as you are about this place," she said, and added sourly. "You can thank him for that, too."
"Why?"
"Because he got under my skin! All that talk about 'being there when he couldn't' just kept rattling around in my head!" she said, irritably. "And I know it's almost certainly rubbish, but if we do end up being mankind's last stand, I'd rather we didn't bugger it up."
"Agreed. Although if you did, at least nobody would be alive to blame you for it," I said, and shook my head in wonder. "So Clint inspired you to start a marksmanship academy? I didn't see that coming."
"Oh, that's not the half of it," Thera grinned nastily. "Why don't you tell her what it's called, Ellie? Go on."
Ellie glared at him. "Hey! You said you weren't going to say anything!"
"Oh, I'm not," he said. "But now I've said that, you know in two seconds she's going to ask, so…"
"I panicked, okay?" she said defensively. "I had everything all laid out in front of the committee; all my plans, all my data — it was all going so well! Then that smarmy arse from Religious Services just had to pipe up, didn't he? With his 'Excuse me, Magus, but what're you going to call this new programme?'. What the hell does he care? It's not like he's going to be incorporating any of this into one of his snoozathon sermons!"
"Well, he's always been a bit of a dick," Thera said, with a sympathetic look. "But you know what that committee's like."
"Yeah; they won't approve anything unless it has a bloody snazzy name to go along with it!" she said. "And at that exact moment I thought 'Oh shit, I'm about to prove Clint right, aren't I? I'm going to prove that I'm not taking this seriously!' — and from Clint I thought 'Hawkeye' and then from 'Hawkeye' I thought…"
"What?" I asked. I had a strange feeling I knew where this was going, but… "What did you come up with?"
"The…um, the—" her voice dropped to a mumble. "—Hawkeye Initiative."
My jaw dropped. "I'm sorry, did I hear that right? Did you say—"
"The Hawkeye Initiative? Yes!" she said, and there was now a distinct hint of gritted teeth. "And you know what? They only bloody well went for it!"
"Of course they would, it's a good name!" I said encouragingly. "I mean, sure, it's a bit derivative, but—"
"—yeah, yeah, laugh it up," she said, and pointed at the pin in my hand. "In any case, that's the first badge we cast. Since this is all Clint's fault, I figured it was only fair it went to him."
"That's very sweet, Ellie," I said. "And I'm sure he'll be touched that you thought of him. I mean, he'll never admit it, but…"
"You think? Well, in that case, did I mention that I was thinking of making him an honorary Hawkeye?"
I raised an eyebrow. "'Honorary'?"
"Yeah," her eyes gleamed, impishly. "Obviously he couldn't be a full Hawkeye unless he completed the course, but I thought, y'know, in recognition of his contributions to the field…"
"Amazing," I sighed. "You know what, Ellie? I'm actually impressed."
"You are?"
"Yeah; you've really upped your game," I said. "I genuinely can't tell if this is one of the nicest things anyone's done for Clint, or if you're messing with him on an intergalactic scale. Or if it's both."
"Well, I'll leave you guys to figure that one out," she said, with a mocking little bob. "At least six thousand light-years away I don't have to deal with that."
Thera coughed. "In any case, I'd just like to point out that this is another example of something good that's come of the Snap. After all, if we hadn't been dragged here then Ellie never would've met Clint, and never would've been inspired to create an entire initiative designed to prove she was better—"
"Hey!" Ellie objected.
"—which we both know is why you really did it," he said, and looked at me curiously. "But tell me, Laura; should she be ashamed of the fact that the Hawkeye Initiative only arose 'cause we got Snapped?"
"No, of course not!" I said.
"Then why should you be ashamed of what you're doing here?" he said. "You're not responsible for what happened to your service users; you're just throwing them a lifeline when they need it the most. What's wrong with that?"
"I know, I know…" I had to admit, he kind of had a point, and from the slight quirk of his lips he knew it too. "Look, I just need time to think about it, okay?"
"Sure, but make sure you talk about it, yeah? Don't just let it fester."
"I will," I promised. "Or I'll try, anyway."
"Good enough for me," he said, and then he frowned and cocked his head. "Unfortunately, I think we're out of time. Clyde's just detected a car pulling into the carpark."
"Oh, that's probably Summers," I said. "She gets in early some days."
"Is she behaving herself?" Ellie asked, with a gleam in her eye. "Because if she isn't, I could have a little chat with her—"
"No, she's fine," I said quickly. "And I'd sooner you didn't give my administrator a heart attack, if it's all the same to you."
"In that case, we'd better make ourselves scarce," she said, and got quickly to her feet. "Look, Laura; it's been lovely to see you again—"
"Likewise," I smiled broadly. "And come back soon, you hear? I mean…be careful, but don't be a stranger!"
"We'll try our best. I seem to remember someone suggesting a 'movie marathon' at some point," she said. "And in the interim, if there's anything you need…"
"It's funny that you should say that, actually," I said, and my gaze fell on her wedding ring. Her expertly wrought wedding ring… "Out of curiosity, did you design that yourself?"
Her lips quirked. "I may have done. Why do you ask?"
"Because if you did, I may have a job for you…"
The world turned onwards. Warmer weather came hot on the heels of Thera and Ellie; within a week the slush had vanished, and my morning commute transformed from scenes of unremitting dreariness to a riot of blooming colour and new life, lit by the gossamer rays of the rising sun. For the first time in months I felt alive, and for weeks I buzzed around at work and home with a smile on my face and a song in my heart. Not all of it was fun and games —Patti's fun run had left me limping for a week— but the quality time I spent with my children and Clint, including one magical, romantic evening on the porch, more than made up for that. As far as I was concerned, nothing could bring us down…
…until Snap Day came into view. I'd written it on a calendar some months previously, triple circled and underlined, but I still felt a wrench when I ripped off the previous month and found it hiding there, like a bruise or a long-forgotten scar. I wasn't the only one, either; as it drew inexorably closer, I felt the tension around me grow until the air positively thrummed with electric energy. Work became more fraught; group sessions turned fractious, even argumentative, and every day we faced more and more referrals to our overstretched counselling services. Home was no better; Coop and Lila took to sniping at each other over petty slights and imagined insults, often exploding for no apparent reason, while Nate's normally-sunny disposition turned surly and rebellious. Clint and I did our best to keep a lid on things, often through gritted teeth, but despite our best efforts there was no getting away from the simple truth: everyone was struggling; everyone was hurting, and hurt people hurt people.
The anniversary of the Snap dawned just like its predecessor; warm, fresh, and with a stiff breeze that dispelled the otherwise oppressive sun. I came to with a start, as I always did these days, and then carefully slipped out of bed and went to take a shower. There were things I had to do today, important things, but that didn't mean that Clint couldn't have another five minutes shut-eye…
I was in the process of choosing a blouse when there came a sigh from Clint's side of the bed, and then he sat up and stretched with a ripple of cracks and pops. I watched, silently, as he finished his routine and reached out for his hearing aid, left to charge overnight on its inductive pad.
"Mornin', sleepyhead," I said, once he'd put it in. "Sleep well?"
At the sound of my voice, he turned and gave me a warm, gentle smile. I smiled back, and tried to ignore the hard glint in his eyes. It had first appeared almost a fortnight ago, and had only gotten worse with time.
"About as well as I could with that new sleep routine of yours," he said, with just a hint of annoyance. "Can you ask Lydia to tone down the muttering?"
"Was it bad?" I said, with a twinge of guilt. "Sorry, hon; you know she's trying to make my sleeping seem…natural. I guess it's still a work in progress."
"I know. At least we've progressed beyond 'coma patient' and 'hovering a foot above the bed, chanting Latin'. Wish I'd recorded that one."
"I'm glad you didn't," I said tartly. "Still, I suppose I should've known that watching The Exorcist just before bed would've confused her."
"Can't see how you could've known that, hon — but lesson learned, I guess," he said, and the glint in his eye hardened a little further. "So, today's the day, right?"
"Right."
"Well, let's get it over with," he said firmly. "And afterwards…I was thinking that maybe we'd go somewhere with the kids. You know, to help 'em decompress?"
"Oh yeah?" I looked at him suspiciously. This conversation definitely rang a bell. "Like where?"
"Well, you remember how I was suggesting that we go to that waterpark near Springfield? Y'know, just before you all got Snapped?" he said. "I figured we should do that for real."
"Really? It's still there?"
"'Drove past it just last week. Apparently they've added two new flumes and a longer lazy river," he said, and winked. "Y'know, for those of us who like their fun to be carefully managed."
"Oh, you're going there, are you?" I said. "How about we make this interesting, Hawkeye? Last one on the tallest, fastest flume there has to do the laundry for a week!"
"You're on," he laughed, and some of the tension drained from his face. "I could do with a break from all that ironing."
"We'll see about that," I stuck out my tongue. "Now stop grandstanding and take a shower. Some of us need to get cracking!"
"Oh yeah? Get cracking with what?"
"Never you mind," I said, and chivvied him towards the bathroom. "So stop thinking about it and go make yourself presentable!"
Clint gave me a suspicious look as I clicked the door behind him, but after a few moments there came the sounds of running water and his own brand of strangely off-key humming. I listened for a little longer, just to make sure he was actually under the water, and then made a beeline for my jewellery box and lifted the lid. I'd expanded my selection a little in the months since I'd become Director; mostly understated, professional pieces, but I wasn't interested in those right now. My prize sat at the bottom, in a velvet ring case, and with trembling fingers I reached inside and popped the lid. Ellie had been absolutely elated when I'd asked her to design a ring for me, and two weeks later I found her waiting impatiently outside the Foundation carrying a satchel filled with designs, ranging from the comparatively simple to the totally outlandish. A painstaking process had followed, driven mostly by her uncompromising perfectionism, until I'd finally settled on the 'perfect' design. In many ways, it was just like Clint; modest, unassuming, understated. There were no inlaid gems or other ostentation, save for a single word, engraved in flowing script on the inside face:
Evermore
I held it up to the light. Was today going to be the day? I wasn't sure. I'd been looking for the perfect opportunity since the moment the ring had arrived, but…Snap Day? Part of me loved the romantic symbolism, but I was also worried it could seem a touch insensitive. It would be so easy to put it back in the box, wait for another time…
"No," I muttered to myself, and stuffed the box firmly in my pocket. "No more waiting."
As usual, I was the first one downstairs. While Lydia's attempts to naturalise my sleep cycle were…idiosyncratic, to say the least, my insomnia was now a thing of the past, and I awoke each morning full of energy and raring to go. I bustled into the kitchen, pausing only to pour myself my ten am glass of water, and then set to work gathering cutlery, condiments, plates and napkins, and put them on the dining table to be taken outside. That done, I carefully unwrapped the wax paper holding several juicy sausage links, and slapped them down on the chopping board with a very satisfying meaty thud. They'd need cutting, obviously, and then a short spell in the oven and—
The stairs creaked, and I looked up as Coop and Lila shambled blearily through the door. They both looked like Clint; tired, drawn, with an air of anxious irritability. I hoped that today would mark the end of that — or, at the very least, the beginning of the end.
"Good morning, sweethearts," I said kindly, and came around the kitchen counter to give them both a hug. "Did you sleep well?"
Lila yawned in response, and mumbled, "Mornin', Mom."
"Happy Death Day, Mom," Coop said, and cast his gaze across the stuff on the table with a look that was half-wry, half-bitter. "So, we're really doing this, huh?"
"We're really doing this," I said firmly.
"Do you think that's a good idea? I mean, Dad—"
"—is going to be fine," I said, and added, "This is important, Coop. For all of us."
"If you say so, Mom," he said dubiously. "You, um, want any help?"
"That's very kind of you, offering before I make you!" I said, with a winsome smile. "Lila; can you gather up everything and lay the table outside?"
"Sure, Mom," she said, in a rather subdued voice. "Um…is it okay if I set a place for Maisie? She said she'd be coming over later to make sure we're still here, and I thought…"
"Of course it is. Why do you think I got extra sausages?" I said, and gently squeezed her shoulder. "It's going to be okay, darling. You'll see."
"I hope so," she said, grabbing a stack of plates and heading for the back door. "Be right back."
I watched her go, and then sighed and turned to Coop. "Right, mister; I'm going to need you to get these sausages cut and cooked. 'Should be easy for a man of your talents, wouldn't you say?"
"Yeah, no problem," he said casually, and then his eyes narrowed. "So what're you going to be doing?"
"Director Barton?" Clint's voice came from the door, and we both turned to see him holding a squirming Nate in his arms. "Director Barton's going to be taking a day off from all her hard work, Coop. That seem fair to you?"
"Yeah, but—"
"And you're responsible enough to handle this, right?" Clint grinned roguishly. "'Cause y'know, I only let responsible people drive the Barton Mobile."
Coop stared for a second, his mouth half open. "Wait; really, Dad? You'd really let me—"
"Well, that depends, doesn't it? But don't think I ain't seen you eyeing it up," Clint chuckled, set Nate down, and crossed the room to take my hand. "C'mon, hon; let's go outside."
Yet again, it looked like we were in for a truly gorgeous day, and I couldn't help but feel a faint sense of deja vu as we settled on the porch swing. The sky was blue, the air was still, and as I snuggled up against Clint a sense of peace and safety settled over me like a cloak. I closed my eyes and took a long deep breath, inhaling the heady scents of early summer and whatever seemed to pass for shower gel in Clint's world.
For a long time we sat there, swinging gently while the sounds of padding feet and clattering cutlery beat a tattoo between the kitchen and the picnic table. At one point I thought I heard Coop swear, somewhere inside, but with an effort I forced myself to be still. Clint was right; he was old enough to handle this, and for the first time in what felt like ages the kids actually seemed to be working together. Maybe there was hope for us yet.
Clint shifted slightly. "You okay, hon?"
"Mmm," I replied. "How about you?"
"Doin' better than I thought I would," he said. "Snap Day's always sucked, but this? This ain't so bad."
I opened my eyes and looked up. "Are you okay with…all of this? I know I kinda sprung it on you—"
He laughed, softly. "You didn't spring anything on me, hon. I've known about this for ages. In fact, I would've been more surprised if you hadn't been planning something like this!"
"Really? What do you mean?"
"I mean you're stubborn, you've got a dark sense of humour, and you ain't the kind of person to back down from a challenge. Hell, the whole world's seen that," he said. "And if this is how you want to show the Snap who's boss, then I'm behind you all the way."
"Thanks, hon," I closed my eyes and settled down against him once again. The ring box shifted slightly in my pocket. "And you know what? You're right; this is just fine…"
We dozed, lulled by the warmth of the sun and the gentle rocking of the chair. As the minutes ticked by the smell of sausages filled the air, rich and full, and then the sound of sizzling meat. I cracked an eye and watched with interest as Coop manoeuvred gingerly through the door, bearing a tray of golden-brown sausages, and carried them over to the carefully laid picnic table to lie amongst the condiments and cutlery. While I didn't feel hunger anymore, the sight of all that food triggered something inside me, and with a luxurious stretch I lifted myself off Clint and got to my feet.
"Alright, hon," I said quietly. "It's almost time."
Clint shook himself back to wakefulness. "Already? You sure?"
His phone buzzed, as if on cue, and Lydia said, "Good morning, Laura and Clint! As requested, I am alerting you that in two minutes exactly, it will be the six year anniversary of the Snap. Traditionally, a minute's silence has been held for Thanos' victims, but this year—"
"—is no different, except now we're thinking of everyone," I said, and raised my voice. "Alright, guys, gather round! It's time!"
Our kids looked up at my voice, and waited impatiently by the table as Clint and I picked our way across the grass. As we approached, I could feel the anxiety in the air; subtle but ever present, and knew I had to move quickly to calm things down.
"Wow, guys! This is amazing!" I said, and hoped that I wasn't coming across as condescending. "Nate? Lila? Great work on setting the table — right, hon?"
"What?" Clint said, and I stood gently on his foot. "Oh, yes. It's very…precise."
"And Coop? These sausages look absolutely perfect!" I went on, and Coop's chest swelled with pride at my compliment. "But you did remember to turn off the oven, didn't you?"
"Aw, Mom! Of course I did!" he said, and looked hopefully at Clint. "So what do you think, Dad? Is this responsible enough for you?"
"How about I let you know after lunch, eh?" Clint said. "But from what I've seen and heard? You're doing pretty good."
"This is your one minute alert," said Lydia. "Isn't this exciting?"
"Alright, kids," I said. "I just wanted to say that I know that it's been…hard, recently. It's been hard for everyone; all of us have awful memories of what happened on this day, and there's nothing to be ashamed of if you're feeling sad, or scared, or angry. I mean, that's what today's all about; it's a chance for us to say 'this sucks!'. It's a chance for us—" I looked over at Coop. "—to admit that maybe the reason we're sniping at our younger sister isn't because she can be a bit full-on, but because we've got all these pent-up feelings that we don't want to admit to, and they suck. They suck big time."
"Um…maybe," he said, with a shy smile.
"And then maybe our younger sister—" I looked at Lila, who blushed. "—will admit that the reason that she's sniping at her older brother is because she's genuinely scared and just wants a hug. I've seen you love, support, and look out for each other so many times since the Blip, and I want you to know that—" I felt my voice catch, and tears came to my eyes. "—I'm so very, very proud of all of you."
"Ten seconds!"
"So here's what we're going to do. We're going to close our eyes, and when I tell you to open them this will all be over," I said, with a smile. "But you know what? We'll still be here, as a family. We're always going to be here for each other, and that's a promise."
I closed my eyes, and in the silence, my hand went nervously to the little box hidden in my pocket.
Six years ago, I'd stood on this exact spot and thought my life was perfect. Maybe it had been, but it'd been perfect like a snowglobe; small and unchanging. That world was gone; Thanos had smashed it into a million pieces, but from its ashes had arisen a new world that was messy, and chaotic, and alive ! Sure, it was a world where every day brought new challenges and new complications, but it was a world where I finally felt like I belonged . Fine, my family was a mess, my friends included slightly-mad aliens, and I had a supercomputer lodged in my brain, but I knew right then that I wouldn't want it any other way.
I pulled out the ring box, flicked the clasp, and held it so it would be the first thing Clint saw when he opened his eyes. Maybe my world wasn't perfect, but it was good…
"Alright, guys! Enough navel gazing; soup's on!"
…and that was enough.
Fin.
