Ok. It's been too long, and I've been kind of denying it, but pretending like this isn't true isn't fair to everyone who's waiting for an update.

Now, I'm pretty sure by standards, this story is fine. But according to my brain, this story is fricking garbage and I must edit it before any progress can be made agh.

Basically, Clint and Laura's interactions at the end of my last chapter sounded off to me, and my brain said, "Girl. That's so OOC, I'm going to kill me." And that turned into my brain saying, "Girl. This story. It's bad. It needs editing. You moron." And then I said, "Piss off, brain," and my brain responded, "Piss off, Icy," and we just kind of ignored each other regarding this story, and, actually most of life in general. But AMC is coming around, and I'm forced to work with my brain once again, and now it's saying, "Ok, girl, let's be rational about this. Let's step back and fix this story up to IceFyre standards." Then I was like, "Brain, are you suggesting we should be rational?"

Welp. First time for everything.

This is why I don't talk to my brain much.

So, basically, this story is going to be dropping off the face of fanon for a while. Not that it hadn't before, but now it's an informed dropping. My plan is to completely edit the first four chapters, and then write the rest of the story once my brain is no longer pissed at this story.

So. Yeah.

(And, for the record, I'm not as self-hating as the above seems. I fully recognize that this is probably completely OCD of me. But hey.)

So, farewell for the present! I will write other stories, and I will be back with this one! REPEAT: THIS STORY IS NOT ABANDONED. I just need to get it up to Icy standards, and it'll be back and better than ever. Also hopefully complete, so when I start updating again, it will be regular.

As just publishing author's notes is not permitted by rules, below is what I had written of Chapter 5. Yes, it's incomplete; sorry about that.

I wake up with a gasp, sweat soaking through my shirt into the mattress. I ball my hands into fists and realize that they are trembling.

I didn't dream about Rory. I dreamed about breaking Kendra's nose last afternoon. The pop when I twisted my hands, and her cry, and all that blood, but most of all, I dreamed of that feeling in my chest. Of power. Of strength.

I broke her nose, and I liked it.

What's wrong with me?

The Bartons are arguing in another room-I can hear their voices behind the closed door. I don't know who sounds angrier.

Either way, I think I'll leave them to it.

What's that weird noise in the living room? I jump over the couch and look around. It's coming from some sort of corral.

What?

I look inside, and the baby is looking up at me, with his fist shoved in his mouth.

What the-Who puts their baby in a cage? Since when is that an accepted practice? Aren't babies supposed to...

Funny. I guess I don't know what you're supposed to do with a baby. I've seen people put them in strollers, but there isn't a stroller nearby. Maybe this is just an indoor stroller.

The baby coos at me and smiles. I involuntarily smile back.

Well, at least he doesn't seem unhappy in there.

I turn to walk away, but I barely reach the couch again before I hear an outraged cry. I glance behind me.

The baby now has his face pressed against the cloth wall of the corral and is staring right at me.

"You want me to come back?"

More staring.

"Okay, then." I walk back to the corral, tossing the bag I'm holding behind me. He still won't stop staring at me.

Um.

Not sure what to do now. Maybe I should-no. That corral is just for babies.

The living room, though...

Hmm...

I reach into the corral, pick the baby up, lift him over the wall, and sit him down on the carpet before sitting down myself.

"Hi there."

Does this baby do anything but stare?

Wait...are humans born able to talk?

"Is it just that you can't talk, kiddo?" I ask, sticking out my finger. He grabs it.

ACK!

Not the mouth!

I try to pull my finger away, but this little guy has a death grip on it.

"What's your name again?"

N... N... Nat... Baby Na... Nate!

"Ok, Nate, please don't bite my finger. Actually, let go of my finger."

I pull. No luck.

"Please?"

Now it's turning purple. Fingers are not supposed to be purple.

"Let go."

Maybe if I pry his fingers off with my other hand?

"Let go!"

Ahhh, that's bett-

YOW!

"My hair is not a substitute for my finger, Nate!"

I pull his fingers out of my hair.

"Well, at least my sleeve isn't attached to the rest of me."

"Wait, why are you..."

"Nate, don't chew my sleeve!"

He lets my sleeve out of his mouth and I look at him more closely.

Uh oh.

"Why don't you have teeth?"

Nate coos again and smiles.

"That's not good! You need teeth!"

At which point Nate decides to put his hands inside my mouth, which shuts me up immediately. I pull them out of my mouth and pick him up, just as Laura and Barton are coming back into the room.

"Wh-put my son down!"

Ok. Back on the floor you go, Nate. I stand up and glare right back at Barton.

Our glare-off is broken by Laura walking in between us and picking the baby up. She walks over to his crate and puts him back in.

"You two," she says, pointing at me and Barton, "need to figure out how to be in the same room without looking like you're going to strangle each other."

Liar.

"Thought I was leaving."

Barton and Laura look at each other.

"Why am I not surprised..." Barton sighs. "You have your stuff?"

I nod over at the plastic bag.

"Then... you ready to go?"

"I want my iPod."

"'ll take that as a yes. Let's get going."

I grab the bag off of the couch.

Well, that's all I've got. It's certainly not my best writing, but this is now rule compliant.

That's all I've got! And to everyone who's read, reviewed, favorited, or followed this story, thanks for being patient with me!

I'll be back!

(And yes, in real life, the chubby blond American girl did just try to say that in Arnold Schwarzenegger's voice. Considering I don't know what his voice sounds like... it's a bit of a problem.)

*poof*

~Icy