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Chapter 2

December 25th, 2028

A crowd, thirty-five heroes deep, blocked the entry way to Avengers Mansion with their collective mass and the presence of no less than four tons of gear to haul. They were another shipment of bodies heading for the future war front. More poured in every day, whether by request or by their own initiative. Captain America, the panel of Avengers, and other world class heroes decided early on that no draft would be instilled. Anyone willing to go would be admitted. Anyone deciding to stay, had the Earth itself to look after. The final days leading up to the seven year mark had a dark cloud hanging low on its horizon. When initial news broke of the danger to come, there was a two week run on the markets. Three economies collapsed in that aftermath, gasoline disappeared, and so did a lot of basic food essentials. It stood to reason that what lay ahead may prove much, much worse.

To handle the public panic and preserve the natural resources, the United Nations enacted the Genesis Edict, named for the famous story in that Biblical book in which Joseph similarly amassed food to protect Egypt in the wake of a seven year famine. The Edict drew in farmers from across the globe, and placed them on government commissions to provide as much food as possible for storage in the equally under-construction world food banks. Canneries amassed food by the trillions of pounds, and not a single day was wasted where something had not been added to one of the countless underground storage silos. Reed Richards elected to stay on Earth and manage the project hands-on with Pepper Potts, lending a hand to the financial reimbursement of the farmer's contributions.

Clint never had to push his way through those who loitered on the Mansion steps. Everyone knew his face, who he was, and heard the story of what he might surely do in the future. Seeing him come, the thirty five men and women pushed aside and created a path.

"Evening, Hawkeye." Rogue said, throwing him a gentle smile dripping in southern comfort.

"Heading out tonight?" He asked, surprised. He glanced at the sky and the threat of oncoming snow. The lunar ships had little trouble navigating the weather with Stark's ARC reactor managing their lift, but he never did like flying in storm clouds.

"That's right. Beast says he needs a little muscle on the other side. So they're sendin' me along." She winked.

Clint winked back. "Leave it to the lady, she gets it done. Hey, is Cap in?"

She indicated the first hallway with an extended hand, her white gloves pulled up to her elbows. "Down the hall, suga'. You meetin' us up there?"

"Not yet. Spending a last Christmas on Earth before we push on." Clint made his way inside, past the likes of Iron Fist and Iceman, who both scattered and stared at him.

She opened her mouth to say something back, but closed it soon after. Clint had already headed in and there was nothing she could do or say that might stop him. Those close enough to have heard his words offered sympathetic looks among themselves. Taking the predictions of an alien race secondhand had been a difficult swallow for a lot of people. The similar accounts, though from Tony, Steve, Pym, and so many other respected members of the scientific community resonated with the masses. If one prediction was true, couldn't they all be? If they all were, that meant the archer was a dead man walking. A sheep being led to a slaughter he couldn't avoid. A planned, predestined death that Peter Quill whole-heartedly believed they might avoid. Quill would be proved wrong.

"Heroes, right?" Iceman said, slinging his backpack over both shoulders. "'Save the cheerleader, save the world.'? Only this time, it's 'Kill the archer, save the galaxy.'"

Iron Fist sucker-punched him in the gut.

:(:):(:):

Clint knocked on the door post of Steve's office with his left hand, surprised at the peculiar new sound that added to his knuckle-tapping. He needed to get used to wearing the ring on his finger. It wasn't second nature yet, like something he never took off, but when he did, he felt its absence like the loss of a limb. He twirled the titanium and gold around his finger as he leaned inside.

Steve's hands shot up over a stack of metal crates all labeled in the Stark insignia. "Whoever it is, the answer is still: no. Spider-Man is not allowed to wear my cowl, and Emma Frost is not leading the West Coast Avengers."

Clint snorted and strode inside to hunt the leader down. The distribution of the crates, most likely a practical joke from Iceman,, Tony, or even Peter Parker, made the Captain's office a virtual maze. He lifted himself over one pile, crawled beneath a second, and found that actually seeing Steve eye to eye was impossible unless one of the 500lb shipments was shoved sideways about twelve more feet. Instead, he stood on the other side of it, with four feet of science tech between himself and the Captain.

"That sucks, I was really bucking for Emma." He joked.

"The last time that woman was here, she nearly set fire to a cat." Steve defended his decision. "The answer is still no. I gave Sam the job."

"Wilson? Falcon?" Clint asked, surprised.

"Yes, Falcon."

"I thought he was going with us."

"Yeah, well, so did I – " Steve paused as he shoved something massive into something else massive and created a domino effect of falling boxes. Fortunately for Clint, his 500lb blockade prevented him from being crushed. He couldn't hear the groan the Captain emitted, but his frustration was clearly palpable.

"Why'd he decide to stay then?"

"Because of Clint!"

Something else fell, and Clint took a step backward out of surprise. Apparently, the Captain didn't realize whom he was having a conversation with. This was the first time he heard of anyone deciding to stay behind because of him.

"I offered to shuffle him into another ship, but he didn't want to hear it. He wants to stay as far away from the scene as he can if the worst happens to Clint. And if Clint's not the one that jumps into a massive hole of death, then it's happening to me, and Sam doesn't want to see that either. I can't blame him, but he's one of the best pilots we've got. Logan's taking on his command post, but that takes Storm away to fly for Logan, and while that's all fine and dandy with lover-boy Wolverine – "

"It leaves our left flank exposed and still one pilot down."

This sigh, Clint could hear. "Exactly."

Clint considered the problem for a moment. Wolverine and he had become good friends over the years. They had similar personalities, though anyone could agree, the X-Man was much rougher around the edges. Recently he'd fallen for Storm, not an unlikely event. They had played cat and mouse games for years and when the romantic Elf Linnor stopped by last January, he almost took Storm away with him. Since then, Logan had been more forthright with his feelings.

After giving the lack of pilots trouble a little thought, Clint decided on a solution.. "We'll just have to train a new pilot. Or a squadron of them. Send a team to Vanaheim with the first crew of captains and make them go through a training protocol. Call up your friend in Washington and tell him to let us borrow a few of their squadron leaders to teach the new guys. The new guys will have two years of flying under their belt by next June, and you can send the squadron leaders back to Earth."

Steve stopped whatever he did on the other side of their wall. "Hey, now that's a great idea."

"You're welcome."

"Who's over there anyway?" Steve shoved the massive tote away like a piece of brick on a Tetris board, and dropped his jaw when he saw Barton.

"I'm the reason why you're down a squadron pilot." Clint said, snarkily.

Steve threw his head back. "Ah, come on, Clint. Why didn't you say it was you?!"

"I thought maybe twenty years of working together you might have figured that bit out beforehand." Clint smirked.

"That's not fair. Do you have any idea how much – "

"Crap you are dealing with that I am not? Yes, in fact, I'm getting the jist of that right now. Did you decline Stark's invite? Is that why he landed all this in your office?"

Steve looked at him. "How do you do that?'

"Magic."

"Be serious. You just walked in my door, solved a really big issue I've been having, read my mind, and now I'm in the mood to just hand this cluster of crap over to you to sort out."

"Crap? You said the C-word, Cap. That's a nickel in the swear jar."

"Clint…" Steve drew impatiently. The last thing he needed this morning was the archer's big mouth.

Clint shrugged the comment off. "Fine, I'll stop. Just, get out of that hole and come on. It's Christmas. It's time for family gift stuff, and I think this year's prank is dying all of Thor's new Hanes underwear pink. You are helping."

"Thor doesn't even know what underwear is, let alone the fact that it's to be worn underneath his suit." Steve pointed out, to which Clint slammed his lips together to prevent the escape of his laughter. Defeated, the Avenger went back to rifling through his list of priorities. "Besides, I have a literal mountain of stuff to get done. We're heading off-world in three days."

"Leave the work, you're coming to Christmas."

"Clint – "

"Cap." Barton's voice lowered just a measure. A sense of urgency and anxiety entered that single syllable word. Steve was forced to turn back to him. "Please. Last year I missed out because I was dying on Alfheimr. The year before that, Tony and Pepper were kidnapped by mutant frog men, and the year before that, no one has any memory of. Like, no one. We're living the life of a BBC Dr. Who holiday season, which . . . now reminds me . . . is on tonight and I am not missing it. Just come do Christmas."

Steve folded his arms. "Usually, I'm the one trying to convince you into this."

"I know."

"How did I end up on the other side of this conversation?"

"Blame Galactus." Clint stepped back and made a come on gesture with a few fingers. He was not about to accept Steve's refusal, no matter how much the Captain protested. His opinion usually caused at least a consideration in his friends, but lately it also created action. No one wanted to deny Clint a thing that he truly asked for. Like a dead man striding a knife's edge, he navigated his way through life on a delicate, dangerous balance. The least everyone could do was offer support.

Steve took one last glance at his work before making the choice to abandon it. He pushed himself up on a few of the stacked crates and swung around to Clint's side. Maybe a little R-and-R was just what he needed to get back on track. He hadn't slept in twelve days, at least. When stress like that hit, the propensity to make mistakes elevated exponentially. He, and certainly no one else, could afford that sort of mishap. There was one thing that even his tired eyes couldn't overlook. He grabbed Clint's wrist and lifted it in front of his face, Steve saw the new black and gold ring sitting there.

"Where did this come from?" he asked.

"A friend."

"Since when did you wear rings?"

"I've worn a few."

"Married, doesn't count. Seriously, it looks like it's from Alfheimr. Did you go off world?"

"It's not from Alfheimr," Clint retracted his hand, "It's from this jewelry shop up the street. You probably know the place, on Elm?"

"I do know the place. What were you doing there?"

"I took Natasha there after dinner."

The round of twenty questions ceased temporarily as the two passed through the clutter of heroes around the door and beneath the retro-fitted Blackwing carrier. Clint pulled his jacket tighter against his body, the vortex of winter wind stirred up from beneath the ARC repulsers cut a chill through him. Steve moved to Clint's left and acted as a human shield to get them through and moving out the underside of the wing. At this time of day, they both preferred to walk toward the main roadways and hail a cab rather than take their own car to the Tower. Happy would have been more than pleased to drive them, but Clint liked to stimulate the local economy once in a while, and one way to do that was the continued use of Tony's credit card.

"Ok, so you and Natasha went to dinner, and afterward you took her to a jewelry shop where we both know she would never go of her own accord. And while you were there, you bought yourself a ring? I don't think so." Steve summed.

"She picked it out."

"Natasha Romanov picked out a ring for you to wear?" Steve said to his continued distrust. Then an idea came to him. "Did she get one too?"

"No. Just me."

A little part of the Captain that had begun to feel the pull of tension relaxed. He wasn't sure why the reaction hit him so deeply. Natasha and he were technically ancient history. After Bobbi Morse's death, the Black Widow recognized that Clint hadn't yet fully let go of the feelings he had for his ex-wife. Though the Russian had the same emotional connection of a pet rock on occasion, she felt slighted by the archer, and decided to end their on again/off again relationship. It wasn't strange for her during that time to stay at Steve's apartment in D.C., so when she left, that's where she ended up first. Eventually, they grew closer, and an attachment Steve never expected, formed. He knew in his heart of hearts that she could never love him in that same way she did Clint, but he was a fool to think his heart didn't rend the minute she went back to Barton, leaving Rogers in the lurch.

"Well, that's…I don't know what to think of that. Is this like a Tony thing? Perpetually engaged? Are you two engaged now?"

"No, we're not."

Steve finally stopped walking. They'd gone little more than a block down one of the back alleys of Harlem, and all he'd gotten were cryptic answers and the evidence of what most certainly appeared to be a wedding band. Clint pulled up to a stop a couple feet away. His hands stayed in the depths of his pockets, and his head and shoulders seemed slack, but tense. Steve was about to be hit with one big wallop.

"This little walk of ours isn't about heading to Tony's is it?" Steve asked.

Clint looked up a little, considering the darkening sky as the sun disappeared into the thickening snow clouds. Any time now, and they were bound to get a white Christmas. He thought about Steve's words, and what he intended to do when they came out there, and shrugged. "I wanted a sec to tell you myself before word starts spreading around like it does."

Steve's heart froze a little.

Clint's eyes fell until the met the Captain's. "We're married. It was my idea, and she said yes. I did it because of what could happen. I don't want her not taken care of, I love her too much for that, Steve. If I die, she'll get everything that I own."

Steve took half a step forward. Of all things he expected Clint to admit to, that was the farthest from his mind. In his daze of coming to grips with what Clint tried to convey, Barton continued on.

"She's going to be alone, and she's not used to that no matter what she says. I need you to promise me you'll look out for her."

As if the first shock wasn't enough, the second hit him like a bullet in the chest, and his shield was not large enough to prevent the pain inflicted. "Wait...no, what? Clint, do you know what you're saying? You just left her four billion dollars!"

"Actually twenty-four, but I distributed it a little from there."

"You want me to what?"

"It's not that hard, Steve. If I die in this, I want your word you're going to watch out for her."

"You aren't going to – "

Clint approached him, removing his hands from his pockets and pressing one against Steve's chest. "Please, don't be an idiot with me. One of the two of us is going down there and not coming back. And if that person is me, I need to know that those things I really care about are going to be taken care of. I always looked up to you, Cap. You're the leader of this team, but more than that you're my friend. You spoke up first when I was laying in my death bed. You're not a father to me, or a brother, or some other family. You're more than that. You're my conscience. If you give me your word, I know you'll keep to it."

Steve continued to stare.

"Just say yes. You don't have to say anything else, but yes."

"Yes." Steve said.

Clint nodded. "Good. That's good." Without waiting for the Captain to follow, he turned back up the roadway to finish their walk down the alley. All he wanted were some ducks in a row, to make sure the people he cared about had everything they needed to live happy lives when he died. Bill, the manager of Clint's archery range, received a considerable sum from Barton's will for him and his wife to live on. Kate Bishop got his name, Hawkeye. He'd trained her night and day the last nine months to take it over when he left the planet. She was going to stay behind, defend the world, without her training wheels. There was nothing in this life Clint could do to soften the blow of his eventual death for Tony Stark. That fact alone often kept him up at night. Tony might make a downward spiral, question everything he cared about, or simply disappear. Stark might have come across as a careless, self-centered jerk to the people that didn't know him, but Clint knew the truth. They were closer than blood could ever make them.

These thoughts consumed his mind as he led the way toward the Christmas morning waiting for them. Thankfully, he'd given Steve enough to think about, and the remainder of their travel was spent in silence.

well, i don't know about you, but that just breaks my heart.

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