So Lucy decided to do the obvious, easiest thing. She just didn't tell Clint that Banner was on to her. As the next couple of months passed, it was never an issue, so her own concern diminished into near nothingness, and they went on with their lives.

Living in New York – even living with Barton… or Clint, as he had at some point become to her – actually became something near unto pleasant for Lucy. They developed little habits, both consciously planned by the two of them and unspoken, that made their lives easier and even… nice…ish. She was pretty sure that she could've become flat-out enamored with her new living situation – maybe even including the girls' nights that Pepper and Jane had dragged her, Maria, and Natasha out on – were it not for the fact that she had started feeling so strange.

As Asgardians – and apparently the Jotun, as well – had a better immune system then Midgardians, Lucy wasn't accustomed to being ill, and tried her best to ignore it and go about her days. However, the day that Clint came home from a mission when she hadn't been told he was once again stateside only to find her clutching the toilet bowl like it was her new best friend was the day that he ordered her directly into bed and her ruse came to an end.

Still curled up on the bathroom floor, slowly easing away from her death grip on the toilet, Lucy protested, lying, "I'm fine, Clint! I just ate something that didn't agree with me; I'll be better by lunch time." So long as the smell of the food that she chose didn't turn her stomach.

Clint raised his eyebrows at her, standing in the doorway as he asked, "Jarvis, what did Lucy have for breakfast this morning?"

"Toast."

"How the heck does toast not settle well, Angel?" Clint asked, the nickname somehow having become much less offensive in the days before he had left for his mission. "You are sick, and you're going to bed until I can get Dr. Banner up here to take a look at you. How long have you been feeling like this?"

In truth, it had started nearly six weeks ago, but hadn't gotten bad until the last week and a half while Clint had been gone off to "It's Classified, Africa."

"Just since yesterday. And I am fine."

Clint sighed at her stubbornness and moved into the bathroom. The sound she made was something that might have been a squeal of outrage as he far and away invaded her personal space and scooped her into his arms only to carry her into his bedroom.

One habit that had started without a comment or even a word between them: since that first time he'd had a nightmare, she'd slept beside him nightly, and they both knew she would be more comfortable in his bed than the one that was in "her room."

Lucy huffed as Clint unceremoniously dropped her onto the bed. "I would say 'welcome home,' but now I'm not sure whether or not I'm glad you're back."

"I'm glad enough for the both of us," Clint said, leaning over the bed to give her a kiss.

Those had managed to become much less offensive too. By now Lucy had just decided that she'd just become so accustomed to the routine of it all, that she had learned not to let it bother her. That was the easiest explanation, right?

"I guess I am too," Lucy decided with a small smile as he broke the contact.

"I thought so," Clint agreed. "I'm going to go get the doc."

"Please don't!" Lucy said, panic slashing through her as she desperately grasped Clint's wrist.

She might not have been born a female, but she wasn't stupid, and she knew very well that she wasn't "sick" per se, but so long as she had no real proof, she didn't have to admit what was truthfully going on inside her body – not even to herself.

"Lucy, stop," Clint said sharply, jerking his arm from her hold. "You can't get better unless we know what's going on. So, if you haven't already talked to a doctor – and we both know full well you haven't – I'm getting Banner. It's just Dr. Banner, Lucy."

"I don't care! I don't want any doctors!" she screamed at him, suddenly feeling more panic and helplessness than she ever had since being cast into Midgard.

"Okay, you're acting like me or Banner is going to kill you, Angel; you need to calm down. Now."

Lucy took a deep breath, forcing herself to do as he'd demanded and softened her tone, positively begging, "Please, Clint, don't do this."

He shook his head at her, still clueless as to why she was so near panic as he repeated, "It'll be fine."

But it wouldn't be. Lucy knew, she just knew that as soon as Clint got Bruce Banner up here, reality was going to kill this fragile life that she had built here with the Avengers, in particular with the man that she was admittedly coming to love. She reached for him again, trying one more time to stop him from doing what would essentially steal her happiness and quite possibly his, but she fell just short, her fingertips barely brushing his wrist as he strode from the room, already inquiring of Jarvis if Dr. Banner was in his lab.

The doctor wouldn't be surprised by Clint's request for Banner to examine her, Lucy knew. The "mindless beast making play he was still a man" had kept a sharp eye on her, especially during Clint's absence, and he had noticed – she suspected Thor had as well – that she was not feeling up to par. While Lucy knew that the thought had yet to cross her brother's mind, she also suspected that Dr. Banner suspected her… condition. And Valhalla help them all, she could hear him exiting the elevator with Clint right at that moment.