Summary: For nine years, you raised the little sister your parents would never see grow. For nine years, you put blood and sweat and tears—sometimes your own, sometimes that of others—into your gruesome work. For nine years, you promised your little family a better life. Then, on the eve of happily ever after, all that is snatched away in the name of revenge. There’s only one group of people capable of rescuing your sister from those who murdered your parents. The thing is, they might not be so willing to help once they discover who (or what) you are…or maybe, just maybe, they might love you in spite of it.

Ratings/Warnings: T (sexual references, mild foul language, canon divergence Post-Avengers (2012), violence, slow burn, France depicted by a non-French writer, no Laura Barton)

Pairings:Clint Barton/Female!Reader; Natasha Romanoff/Bruce Banner; Tony Stark/Pepper Potts

Tag List: @imaginesfire​

Master List

Chapter 2: Thanks for the Warning

Your father told you once many years ago that one day you would return to New York City. You’d been seven at the time, eager and excited to be somewhere so starkly different from your home in Arizona—and to see your father at work. All the glitter, all the lights, so many people! You couldn’t wait to come back with your parents someday soon, someday when it was safe, someday when there wasn’t a job to do.

As you watched the dark shapes of the many skyscrapers covered in squares of brilliant whites and blues slide past your taxi window, you couldn’t muster up the enthusiasm of your childhood. Your father probably hadn’t imagined that everything would be different the next time you saw the city, except for the city itself. No family, no safety, only work to look forward to. You wouldn’t even be in the country long enough to enjoy the sights if all went according to plan.

“So, how long are you in town for?” the cabbie asked. The brown eyes set underneath his thick, dark eyebrows flashed at you in the rearview mirror. You appreciated his breaking into your thoughts; answering him prevented you from dwelling on what could not be changed.

“I leave first thing tomorrow.” You slipped easily back into the American Midwestern accent you’d adopted since arriving in the city. “I’ve got business to take care of out of the country.”

“And you only got in this evening?”

“I had a layover. Why waste it?”

“That’s some turnaround just to see Central Park!”

“I couldn’t resist looking at the ice-skating rink. My dad took me there once when I was a little girl.”

“Oh, yeah? Where’s he now?”

“Dead. Like the rest of my family.”

Your driver made a strange spluttering sound. Lucky for him, a spot along 5th Avenue opened up, allowing him to pull in without inflicting any further awkward conversations upon either of you. You hopped out, paid him his fare—plus a tip—and then headed for the information kiosk ahead on Terrace while he waited for someone new to flag him down.

Early March after sunset was not as popular time for the Central Park skating rink as earlier months might have been. It could not be helped. You had left Paris as soon and as surreptitiously as you could without attracting suspicion. A few slow laps around the ice were enough for you to find a crowd of young adults to follow back out of the park. Their chattered faded when you parted from them to turn right on 5th, but by then you could gauge your speed by walking with the other pedestrians. No one gave the woman carrying a pair of ice skates and a heavy backpack a second look.

And there was your destination in front of you, lit up like a beacon piercing the glowing sky above. Avengers Tower shone brighter than all the buildings around it; you could not have missed it if you tried. Nothing major must have been going on that night either. More people than you’d seen in Central Park spilled across the tower’s steps. Many of those people were in costume; enough weren’t that you blended in with the numerous fans and protesters as you climbed up to the glass doors.

You expected the empty lobby at nine o'clock in the evening. Nothing stirred the shadows less than an inch from your nose. Not a light blinked. Tony Stark would have the best security system in the world installed, though, probably one he’d built himself. That you could count on. One wrong move, and all your careful work just to get this far would come crashing down around your ears.

“I wouldn’t stand there too long if I were you.”

Turning at the sound of a male voice, you found only one person close enough to speak to you. A few feet away stood a man painted head-to-toe in metallic gold and red. He rotated his entire body to meet your eyes, and it hit you: He was a street performer decked out to match his location.

“I mean it.” His fingers mechanically motioned you closer. “Too many fans attempting to breach the lobby after hours lately. They’ve updated their security. I saw a girl get blasted down to the sidewalk last night. Unless you’re looking for that sort of thrill…”

You quickly stepped away from the danger zone and over to your new friend. An upturned hat filled with coins and dollar bills sat at the base of the pedestal he stood atop. Well, preventing you from getting caught before you got started had to be worth something.

“Thanks for the warning,” you said, and pulled out a dollar from your wallet to drop in the hat.

Through the throng of Iron Mans, Black Widows, Thors, and Captain Americas you traipsed. Occasionally, you stopped to take a selfie with one that stood at a strategic point along your path. The photos, however, told you nothing other than that Tony Stark didn’t keep a security guard stationed in his building’s lobby at night. And why would he? They had a Hulk, and you wouldn’t doubt the team would utilize that the second they caught wind of anyone trying to force their way through the front doors.

Fortunately, you’d only ever planned to use the front door as a last resort.

******

Nine o'clock. The stage was set. All the lamps in Tony’s living quarters were dimmed. Most of the glasses next to each person’s seat were drained of liquor. A mound of cash sat in the center of the table. Only two players remained. Tony and Steve eyed one another warily. No one else moved. Everyone held their breaths, waiting for the big reveal.

“Four of a kind,” Steve announced as he slapped four aces and a ten of spades on the table.

Whatever Tony had, he didn’t bother saying. He scattered his cards across the table and dropped his head into his arms with a theatrical groan. Even from this angle, Clint could tell Tony’s hand hadn’t had a hope of beating Steve’s. Natasha and Bruce cheered.

“That’s the third time tonight, Rogers.” Tony lifted his head high enough to glare at the man across from him. “You’re cheating. There’s no other explanation for it!”

“If he is, you haven’t managed to prove it yet,” Natasha said.

“That’s because you’re all aiding and abetting him. You want me to lose.”

“Hey,I was rooting for you,” Bruce put in.

Tony glowered at him, too. “You’re sleeping with the enemy now, Big Guy. I can’t trust you. Who knows what she can convince you to do once she’s got you between the sheets?”

As if to prove Tony’s point for him, Natasha entwined her fingers with the hand Bruce had resting on the table, then leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Bruce turned pink but shot her a shy smile. Clint rolled his eyes away from this nauseating sight.

“See?” Tony said. “She probably told you to drop out as soon as you could to make sure I’d be trapped in a game alone with Le Chiffre here!”

“That’s putting an awful lot of stock in Bruce’s poker skill that I haven’t seen yet,” Clint remarked.

“This coming from the first guy to fold.”

“It’s not my fault you guys play for such high stakes. Some of us aren’t made of money, you know? I’m practically homeless.”

“Please. You live rent free in the most exclusive place in town. I think you can afford to put a little something in the pot.”

“Says the billionaire,” Clint grumbled. What little money he earned from a paycheck severely cut by superheroics he preferred to keep to himself, not that Tony cared. But Clint supposed he wouldn’t care much if he raked in the kind of cash Tony had for his entire life.

“Anyway, that’s not the point!” Leaping to his feet, Tony pointed dramatically at Steve. “My point is, how did someone whose entire shtick is embodying truth, justice, and the American way get so good at poker?”

Steve eyes flitted around the table, perhaps looking for an out. No one offered him one. “When I couldn’t keep a job, I had to find some way to help Bucky pay the rent. I’ve had a lot of practice playing people a lot tougher than you.”

“So you admit it! You arecheating.”

“Well, if you’re so sure, I can think of one way for you to prove it.”

“What’s that?”

Steve smiled. “Play another round. And this time, pay real close attention.”

The same tension as before filled the room. Bruce and Natasha’s gaze remained riveted on Tony. Clint idly wondered if he could slip away unseen while everyone waited for Tony to make a decision. Then, before Clint could push out his chair and make a run for it, Tony sat back down.

“Deal me in,” he said.

“I’m game,” Natasha agreed.

“I can go one more,” said Bruce.

“Sir?” JARVIS’s voice cut smoothly though the renewed trash talk. He didn’t wait for anyone to acknowledge him before continuing, “My sensors indicate someone is attempting to scale the building.”

That brought an end to the dealing at once.

“What?”

“Again?”

“Now?”

“I guess this puts an end to our game,” Steve said ruefully. “I was going to go for Tony’s Spyder next.”

“In your dreams, Rogers. I’ve got your number. I was just about to win everything back.”

“If you’re so sure about that, why not wager the car?”

“This hardly addresses the problem at hand, boys,” Natasha interrupted. “The game can go on, but first we need to decide who has to go retrieve the intruder, preferably before they find anything to put up on eBay.”

“It’s probably just another one of Tony’s ex-girlfriend,” said Bruce.

“So that’s me out of the running,” Tony said.

“Why does that make it not your job?” Steve asked.

“Because if I go, who knows what she’ll do? I break her heart, she grabs the nearest potted plant and breaks my face.”

“A real tragedy.”

“Maybe a plant to the face would improve your looks, Rogers, but some of us don’t need an adjustment.”

“I’ll go.”

Natasha and Bruce exchanged a look. Tony and Steve went as far as pausing in their bickering to stare at the man now standing next to his chair.

“Clint? You sure?” Bruce asked.

Clint had already made it to the door. He waved Bruce’s concern away. “This game’s too rich for my blood anyway. You guys go ahead.”

“Hey, better you than me, Legolas,” said Tony.

“You might not feel that way here in a few minutes,” Steve said.

“Mark my words, Rogers, in a few minutes, you’re gonna be the one wishing he went on peel-the-fangirl-off -the-wall duty.”

“That’s right. Keep your eyes on each other. No one consider how badly I might like a new car,” Natasha said.

As the argument over who would win this round of Texas Hold'em resumed, Clint moved rapidly away from Tony’s sitting room. The floor containing the more common areas, such as the bar and Bruce’s laboratory, was only a few floors away. Clint shoved the door to the stairwell open with his shoulder and dashed up the stairs, relieved to be away from the rest of the group. Hanging around Bruce and Natasha was sickening enough; throw in Steve and Tony’s near-inability to pay attention to anyone but each other (especially whenever Pepper flew back to Malibu for work), and Clint felt like the fifth wheel on a very ungainly bicycle.

He made a beeline for the weapons cache the second he reached the correct floor. From there, he pulled out the waiting bow and a quiver of trick arrows—then grabbed a few real arrows just in case. There’d been an influx in attempts to break in to the various Avengers’ living quarters since Tony displayed the whole place in a Home and Gardens magazine, but they couldn’t assume every intruder would be someone relatively harmless and in search of nothing more than celebrity underwear to sell for a quick buck.

“Which way are they coming up, JARVIS?” Clint asked the ceiling, once he was prepared.

JARVIS answered promptly: “The unidentified climber is making their way up the northeast side of the building. Their current whereabouts are near floor 83.”

“How about that? A new record.”

Whoever they were, they didn’t have far to go. Clint picked up the pace. As he reached the building’s back wall of windows, he snapped his bow into shape and nocked one of the trick arrows. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to fire anything more dangerous than a rope should the stranger slip upon seeing him.

“I have unlocked the panel directly in front of you,” JARVIS announced.

“Thanks, pal.”

Wind blasted into the room the moment Clint pushed the window open it. Nearby objects rattled and papers skittered across the floor. No noise issued from outside except for the faint and steady honking from the traffic one fatal drop below. He stuck his body out only enough to aim his bow and arrow downward.

“You know, we’ve got an awfully nice public lobby about 85 floors from your current position. Maybe you could try visiting that sometime, preferably during daylight hours. Someone there might even agree to sign something for you, provided it’s legally purchased.”

Silence. Clint slowly lowered his bow and squinted into the darkness below. The alley, though not as well-lit as the front of the tower, caught enough of the blue glow from the giant “A” for him to confirm his immediate suspicion: No one clung there to respond to his quip. He waited there for another half a minute, though, as if expecting someone to poke their head out from a lower level once they thought he’d left.

“JARVIS?” he said as he ducked back inside. “You sure they were on the northeast side of the building?”

“Yes, sir,” the AI replied.

“Do you sense anyone there anymore? ‘Cause I didn’t see anybody just now, and we both know my sight’s about the only thing I contribute around here.”

“I sense no one actively touching the building outside at all. How odd. It’s as though they simply vanished.”

“Let’s hope it’s some hocus-pocus like that. The alternatives are a hell of a lot worse.”

Maybe it was his many years as a SHIELD operative. Maybe it was his time as Loki’s unwilling puppet. Whatever the reason, Clint didn’t let go of his bow or remove his arrow from the string. His eyes scanned every window he passed on his way back to the rest of the group. This time, he took the elevator, ears straining every second for the sound of shattering glass or an uninvited passenger coming along for the ride. Nothing like that happened, and he returned to the room without incident.

“That was quick,” Tony remarked at Clint’s appearance. “You holding out some latent teleportation powers on us, Barton?”

“Do you need help restraining them?” Steve asked, eyeing Clint’s still-readied weapon.

Clint shook his head. “There was nobody there.”

“Were you doing any experiments with JARVIS earlier?” Bruce asked Tony.

“No.” Tony sat his cards facedown on the table and sat up a little straighter. “JARVIS? Is there something going on with your programming?”

“Not that I can tell, sir. One minute, my security systems detected a human biosignal moving up the northeast side of the tower. The next, they did not,” JARVIS replied.

“Run a self diagnostic.”

“I’ve already begun. Nothing seems amiss. I can find no signs of a break-in either.”

Bruce tossed his hand to the table without further discussion. “I’ll go to the ground floor and see if I can find anyone. I wasn’t going to last much longer anyway.”

“Might want to grab a spatula on the way out!” Tony called as Bruce disappeared into the hall.

“Very funny,” Steve said stonily.

“You know, I imagine Pepper’s going to say the exact same thing when I tell her she has to file a claim with our insurance. Same tone and everything. Amazing.”

“That really shouldn’t be our primary concern right now.”

“What should be?” Natasha asked with a cheeky smile. “You really have a one track mind if you’re still focused on the game.”

“I—”

“I am detecting multiple human biosignals now, sir.”

“Outside?” Clint asked, already headed back the way he’d come from.

“No. Inside the building. One is in the bar. One is Miss Potts’ private office. I have third reading in the lobby, a fourth in Captain Roger’s bedroom, and another in the records room.”

Natasha, Steve, and Tony joined Clint on their feet. Everyone gazed expectantly at Steve for orders. He looked at each of them in turn as he rattled them off:

“Tony, you check Pepper’s office. I’ll get the one in my quarters. JARVIS, tell Dr. Banner to check the lobby since he’s the closest.”

“I’ll hit the records room,” Clint volunteered.

“Oh, sure, the one that’s probably a false alarm?” Tony smirked. “No one’s getting anything out of there with JARVIS on the job. Why don’t you join Natasha at the bar? At least I’ve got some unprotected valuables there.”

“Hey, might as well send the least capable person to the least likely spot, right?” Clint said.

Natasha took off like a shot in the direction of the stairs without waiting to see what the outcome of Clint and Tony’s spat would be. Steve, Tony, and Clint all followed. The former two stopped at the door to the stairs through which she had disappeared.

“Remind me why you’re on the payroll again, Barton?” Tony asked.

“Someone’s got to be the pretty one.”

Clint sped off for the lift again. The records room was quite a bit further down than either Steve or Tony’s destination, and the stairwell would be too crowded for Clint to maneuver if they ran into trouble there. Bruce must have already made it all the way down to the first floor, because the elevator arrived quickly and with no one inside.

This second trip took longer than Clint would have liked. He returned his trick arrow to his quiver and replaced it with a real one. As confident as Tony seemed in JARVIS’s ability to throw off a hacker, Clint himself didn’t feel so sure. If someone had gotten into the tower that night, they’d already managed to fool a supposedly foolproof AI once. The last thing he needed would be to find himself with his pants down and an actual supervillain ready to jump him the moment the lift doors opened.

But the floor that housed all the Avengers’ records—paper and electronic files both—seemed empty when he stepped out into it. He saw and heard nothing out of the ordinary, yet something prevented him from turning right back around and joining Natasha at the bar. Clint held his breath, listening hard for any unusual noises. The thought of asking JARVIS to check if he still registered an unknown human nearby occurred to Clint before he realized that would let any intruder know someone was on to them.

Down the hall he crept, silent as could be. His breath burned in his lungs. Just a few feet more. The door to the records room hung open. He could see the first few inches of tile floor. The moment he reached the opening, Clint pressed his back against the wall and pulled his bow string taught. Then he carefully inched his head closer and closer to the doorframe until he could peer around it.

At once he could tell just how wrong Tony had been, not just about JARVIS, but about everything else that night, too. There in the records room, surrounded by open boxes and neatly stacked manila folders, crouched a woman with [color] hair—and the moment Clint spotted her was the same moment she spotted him as well.

Summary: For nine years, you raised the little sister your parents would never see grow. For nine years, you put blood and sweat and tears—sometimes your own, sometimes that of others—into your gruesome work. For nine years, you promised your little family a better life. Then, on the eve of happily ever after, all that is snatched away in the name of revenge. There’s only one group of people capable of rescuing your sister from those who murdered your parents. The thing is, they might not be so willing to help once they discover who (or what) you are…or maybe, just maybe, they might love you in spite of it.

Ratings/Warnings: T (sexual references, mild foul language, canon divergence Post-Avengers (2012), violence, slow burn, France depicted by a non-French writer, no Laura Barton)

Pairings:Clint Barton/Female!Reader; Natasha Romanoff/Bruce Banner; Tony Stark/Pepper Potts

Posting Status: In-Progress

Notes:Now that I am feeling better, I want to write again (especially since I didn’t get any requests). Honestly, though? My old stories are…old. I’m not abandoning them. It’s just that I really wanted to write something new that reflects where I am as a writer now. This plot bunny has been gnawing at my brain since I wrote the “Factory” one shot for my “One Small Step” collection. Clint Barton isn’t the most popular Avenger, I realize, but I hope someone out there will enjoy this story. I thought about swapping Clint out for Steve or Bucky. That’s just not the story I wanted to tell.

One more Important note: I’m not French. I’ve never been to France. The only person I know who speaks French is my friend from Canada. I’ve done a lot of research for this, but that doesn’t mean I’ve got it all right. Please shoot me a note if you find any discrepancies that need addressed! I will be happy to correct them.

Chapter 1: A Beautiful Job

Chapter 2: Thanks for the Warning

Clint Barton Masterlist

• A Little Help From My Friends :[Request]Bucky and the reader are best friends, she’s an enhanced soldier and their favorite thing to do is speak in other languages around the team because they can’t understand them -cept Nat ofc- and Bucky keeps teasing and pestering her about her crush on Clint 
• Love Can Heal: [Request] Clint is training you to use a bow and arrow and every time he touches you to help, you flinch and back away and he doesn’t know why. 

Drabbles

• Regret

Of Dust and Ashes: Chapter 39- The Last Page (End of Book 1)

AN: And so, we’re at the last page of this book. But fear not, dear friends for the story is far from over. We’ll have a few stand alone one shots that are mostly just a peek into the state of the world through some OC’s lives during the snap and then we’ll pop on over to book Two and the second half of this story. I do hope you’ll join be for a peek into the lives of Rita Blackmore and Sharon Watson as well as any other OC’s that decide to speak to me and tell me how the snap impacted their lives in a snapshot. Please do reach out and let me know if you have questions about how the snap impacted the lives of a given ‘type’ of person or occupation as these snap shots give me a lovely chance to share details that would otherwise remain on the cutting room floor.

I hope to see you all in Book Two.

Find my other work on the Masterlist- some angst, some fluff, some sexy smut for all flavors.

pairing: Clint x OFC
Series rating: M
Series warnings: adult themes, occasional smut, violence, mental health struggles- if it can be warned for, it’s probably in here at some point tbh

Kofi

All donations and Kofi purchased and sent my way will go toward paying down my student loan debt.

Current balance as of 3/26/22: $45,612.83

Chapter 39: The Last Page

They were sitting in the kitchen when there was a loud beep that echoed through out the room. The day had been typical, average for the new normal before that sound. Spring had brought warm air and chased away the last remnants of winter and leaving the promise of new growth behind.

“What was that?” The chair scraped against the dining room floor as she stood in a rush.

“Power switched over.” Clint looked around as if something would give away the change. “The generator sounds when it powers on and off- it’s an automatic, no worry system. Tony didn’t want Laura to have to fuss with it when I was away.”

“They got the power back on?”

“Looks like power bills are going to become a thing again.” Clint joked though is face showed no sign of laughter.

“Just another thing back to normal.” Hands shook as she stepped away from the table. It should have been a good thing. The world would recover and people would stop being hurt if things went back to normal. That’s how things got better, right?

“Are you okay?” Clint’s hands on her shoulders acted to ground her, to keep her mind from floating away from her.

“I should be,” She whispered.

“But are you?” He pressed, fingers digging into the muscles of her shoulders and keeping her well and truly planted there, in the kitchen with him.

“No.” The admission made bile rise in her throat. “I don’t want it to go back to normal.”

“It’ll never go back to normal for us.” Strong arms wrapped around her as he pulled her to his chest. She went willingly enough, clinging to him and the promise of his voice. “We don’t have to pretend that the world moves on.”

~~~~~<3

With the return of electricity, the world did indeed begin to return to normal at a faster rate.

On their next trip into town a few days later, they found seeds of normalcy. The soldiers were still there, though their numbers did not grow. There was a market set up on the sidewalks, farmers and householders selling what items they’ve been able to produce in the time since the world stopped. Trading and bartering were well in practice and the people did not look at each other with fear as they had before. Or rather, without as much fear at least. Occasionally, the money of the world before changed hands.

The grocery had indeed reopened. They walked the aisles, many of which were bare still, out of curiosity more than need for any goods. They had managed to ration and maintain their inventory over the winter and while there was significantly less flour, sugar and rice in their stocks, they still had plenty. There were signs posted limiting how many of which item could be purchased.

There were supply shortages as production was only beginning to limp forward. Things like toilet paper were on the shelf and limited. Trucks began to move goods again, though sporadic, limited and inconsistent. When the trucks did stop, they unloaded limited goods at each spot and mostly contained canned and paper goods.

“It’s so weird.” Dee whispered as they grabbed a pack of salted nuts and looked at the expiration date. It was a month over but they had made it into the stores. In the world before, stores would never sell expired food items but this was a very different world, still standing in the shadow of what had been before. “Expired.”

“We’re buying expired nuts.” Clint laughed and leaned into her ear to whisper, “At least my nuts are not expired.”

Dee choked on air, trying to stifle the laughter at the lewd joke. It had felt like a museum in the store, everyone inside had been milling about in near silence. “Don’t say things like that!”

After paying with cash as was required at all official stores that the government had opened or helped open, they settled for walking around the small city center. Booths and carts were set up, selling mostly food items. Some men had coolers with signs leaned against them advertising meat or dairy for sale.

“Do you think its safe?” Dee whispered when they first spotted them. In the world before, raw milk was frowned upon and most cheeses and yogurts were pasteurized. Storage temperatures for meat and dairy were strictly regulated. None of this was true for the meat and dairy being sold out of coolers in make shift booths and stalls.

“Safe enough.” Clint wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his side. “In many places around the world, this was the normal for markets. People just made sure to check for freshness and cooked their food well to avoid getting sick. It’s a skill most in what we insisted on calling the first world nations had lost. A lot of people got a crash course in it though. What do you think about selling the chickens?”

“Why?” His arm tightened around her, squeezing her shoulder into his side in a comforting embrace as she carefully questioned his words.

“I was thinking when we can count on fuel supplies, maybe we could hit the road, travel.”

“You don’t want to stay at the house?” It was his home, his family home and the idea of him leaving it in a more long term way seemed strange to her. For most of their life together, they had spent it at the farmhouse or trying to get back to the farmhouse.

“Do you?” She was aware of the weight of his arm around her. What weighed more, his arm or the questions in the air?

“Not really. It will always be home and it served us well all winter but there are ghosts there. I don’t want to live with ghosts,” the way he smiled down at her, he could be talking about abandoning a favorite camping spot, not his family home. “I don’t think you want to either. Neither of us deserve to.”

“What will we do?”

“Wing it?” He shrugged. “Travel, see the world and… I don’t know, see what happens.”

“Wing it.” She laughed. It was so against everything she would do. It was against everything she should do with the world returning to normal. She should be planning to return home, have her window fixed and repair whatever other damage was done to her home. She should be figuring out of her job was going to return to existence and if she would still have employment.

What she should be doing was packing up the RV and heading west. She should be figuring out what money she had. The proper thing to do would be to try and find out what happened to their bodies (Was anything left?) and see to it that they were buried properly. She should be planning two long overdue funerals with too small coffins.

“Can we,” She swallowed a lump in her throat as bile rolled in her stomach. “Can we not let terrible people hurt people again? There’s been so much suffering. So much pain. I don’t want it swept under the rug so they can go back to normal. It- It feels like that’s what’s going to happen. What is happening.”

She didn’t understand the reality of what she was asking or how that would look in reality. What she did know was that Clint Barton was a hero. He was her hero. And heroes do not let the bad guys be bad because that was easier. Perhaps he was the last real hero left. She didn’t know if she could be a hero herself but if he wanted to continue his life mission, she wanted to help him.

“Okay.” Stopping in the street, he turned her to face him, searching her eyes for signs of fear, of understanding, of sanity.

“Okay?” She didn’t know what she was asking, not really but somehow he understood the permission she was granting him.

He knew what she wanted in her heart even if she was unable to face the horror of it. “Okay. But I make the rules if that’s what we do.”

“You lead,” she agreed. “I follow.”

~~~~~<3

It took less than a week to sell the chickens. It felt unsettling to see the coop clean and empty. The garden and make shift greenhouse were picked clean of produce over the week.

Much was processed and canned. Excess was sold for the money of old. What plants they could plant in the ground with a reasonable hope of their survival in the yard and field were planted. Those that were sure to die were potted and sold as well. They held hope to return to the farmhouse frequently, picking what produce was naturally ready to harvest, restock and rest in the safety of home.

There was a finality in the packing of the motorhome. This time, rather than packing for a few days away, they packed for a life away. They spent a week in all, packing and checking their supplies over again and again.

The dresser and closet in the bedroom was stocked, packed full of clothes. Extra shoes were tucked neatly in a drawer. Many pairs of pants filled drawers along with underwear and socks. They packed fewer shirts, expecting to not be as hard on them but still, they traveled in excess. The drawers under the bed were packed full of blankets, extra sheets and pillows as well as tarps.

Clint had secured a net to the overhead bunk that was secure enough to tie down, allowing the space to be utilized for extra storage. Clint filled the space with lidded baskets containing air tight canisters of flour, sugar and rice. Weapons were stashed near the door side of the bunk. Guns and knives were tucked away. Swords sheathed and secured to the wall. Quivers of advanced trick arrows were secured in place along with hundreds of standard arrows.

The propane tank was full. The batteries were charged. The solar panels were cleaned. Clint had even gone so far as to connect to the internet for the first time since the week his family were stolen from him to arrange legal ownership of the motorhome through less than legal means.

Cups, bowls, plates and cutlery were clean and stocked in the shelves. Where she had to make due with the knives and cooking supplies she had managed to get a hold of before, now she had a toaster and a knife block secured in a cabinet. The pots and pans they used most were stored along with cutting boards and mixing bowls.

Measuring spoons and cups were tucked away. Jars and bottles of spices, salt and flavorings were tucked into the spice rack in the small pantry. Cans of vegetables and fruits were tucked into the pantry right along with bins holding onions, potatoes, apples and citrus.

Meats were packed into the freezer as tightly as possible. The fridge was filled with more meats and bins of leafy greens. Eggs were tucked on a shelf, carefully placed to keep them whole. A glass jar of milk and a block of cheese- products of expensive trades with a local dairy farmer who was very protective of what remained of his herd.

When there was nothing left to back and nothing left to clean, they had nothing left to do but face the reality of the last night in the comfort of the farmhouse.

“It’s not too late to change your mind.” Clint’s arms wrapped tightly around her.

With the restoration of power, the natural gas plant also began to return to functionality. They no longer needed to heat the farmhouse with the wood stove or electric heaters.

That didn’t change the routine of building a fire in the wood stove at night and allowing the embers to die down during the day on the off chance it got cold before dark.

The fire roared in the open wood stove, throwing light out into the room along with the heat. The windows were cracked open. It wasn’t cold outside but it was cold enough to justify some added warmth. The fire was excessive, she knew that. He didn’t have to tell her. Opened windows balanced the heat thrown into the room to keep the space comfortable.

“Are you sure you want us to do this? We can unpack.” There was nothing he wanted less in the world than to force Dee to do anything.

“I do,” she assured, leaning into his chest. “Do you want to? I don’t want us to go unless we’re both on board. All or nothing.”

“All in, Babe.” Grabbing her hand, he spun her around to face him. He caught her hand in his. They spent the last night in the farmhouse dancing to the rhythm of the popping fire. “You and me, against the world.”

Clint pulled her closer and she melted into him. There was safety in his arms that she would never grow tired of.

“You know,” she whispered into his neck as she rested her head on his shoulder. “I wish the decimation never happened.”

“Me, too.”

“But in a world where it had to happen, I can’t imagine not being with you. I’m so fucking thankful that I met you. That you saved me, took me in. That you love me.”

“Sounds like you’re getting ready to propose.” He teased and she laughed. “I love you, too. Everything you just said- the same.”

“So good with words.” She teased him as they swayed as the sunlight dimmed with the setting sun.

“Yeah, yeah.” His laugh was rich and warm. It was a sound she would gladly listen to for ages, until the day she died.

“Forever?” She whispered as she looked up into his deep eyes.

“Forever.” He promised, resting his head against hers’.

~~~~~<3

It was warm and their naked bodies were covered with only a sheet. Trust had sought out cooler sleeping arrangements not that anyone complained about having the privacy. The fire had kept it far warmer in the home than it needed to be overnight.

Sweat had slicked their bodies when they fell together into the bed. It seemed fitting to spend the last night in the farmhouse tangled together in a mass of limbs, breathing each other in as he sank into her and she writhed around him. This was the home that they had fallen in love in.

Though neither said it, they were once again saying goodbye to a chapter of their lives. It had been a short chapter but a very defined one just the same. It’s pages were spotted with blood and the bitter taste of sadness and fear. What better way to celebrate the end of a chapter than surrounded by pleasure and whispering the names of one another as if a sacred prayer.

In the morning light, they were still very much entangled around one another. Neither was in a hurry to rise with the sun this last morning. Soft lips planted sleepy kisses on the mop of her hair, announcing that he was awake without making an effort to wake her.

“Morning.” She whispered, shifting to plant a tender kiss on his warm chest.

“Keep doing that and we’re not leaving this bed anytime soon.” The words were mumbled into her hair as he shifted to lay in part on his side, facing her.

“Showers, breakfast then head out?”

“No more kisses?” He pouted.

“You said if I kept on we wouldn’t be leaving. Can’t have that, can we?”

Clint leaned forward and captured her lips in a hot kiss. Strong arms pulled her to his chest. For a moment, she indulged in the feel of him, the way his strong chest crashed into the soft swells of her breasts. He ground his hips into her, making his desire well known as if she hadn’t seen the tent in the sheet before he shifted.

Leading kisses made their way down his neck. He leaned back, relaxing into the touch and where he had planned on it to go. Rather than lower, it lead to a void in the bed next to him.

“Excuse me?” He whined like a petulant child. “Get back here.”

“I’ve got to start our last breakfast.” Dee spared him a wicked smile as she buttoned one of his flannel shirts over her naked body.

“You can’t leave me here with this!” She laughed as he gestured to his member, poking rather comically up from the hem of the sheet.

“I’m sure you know how to take care of it yourself. You’re a big boy-”

“You can see I am.” He cocked an eyebrow as he interrupted her, hoping to bait her back to the bed.

“And you know how to use your hand.”

“But I don’t wanna.”

“Or you can take a cold shower. Go on, figure the boner out and come down to breakfast.”

“Can we have sex in the kitchen?” She laughed at his last attempt, not bothering to give him an answer as she made her way out of the room. “Aww, boo! You’re mean!”

“I don’t have to make coffee.” She called from the hall, laughter lighting up the space more so than the golden light of the rising sun.

“I’ll be good! Coffee please!”

It was a good way to spend the last morning in the farmhouse. The space deserved to be filled with light and laughter before being left to stand alone. The home needed to be left with warmth and love echoing within it.

It had come so close to being a memorial to the past, to pain and heartache. It was very nearly a tomb to hold the ghosts of his family. With all the love and laughter that had filled the home before, it was good to leave it with warmth and love now.

~~~~~<3

She watched in the side mirror as the farmhouse faded in the distance. It was perched on the rise of a slight hill and as the home on wheels rocked over the slightly uneven dirt road that would take them to the gate and the pavement.

As the house grew smaller and smaller, so did the time she had left to turn back. She could physically feel the time counting down and the cliff of change loomed as the gate came into view. There was no reason she should feel this impending change so physically but still, she did.

The farmhouse faded and became nothing as they crossed the expansive property that belonged to Clint. In a way, she supposed it belonged to her too for as long as she was his and he was hers.

“Having second thoughts?” Clint’s fingers were entwined with hers as he navigated down the road at a steady pace.

“No,” She mused, pulling her eyes from the mirror and directing her attention to him. The morning sun was warm upon his face, lighting it with shades of gold that highlighted the tan that had only begun to color his features as spring bloomed. “Just saying my goodbyes to home.”

“We’ll come back.” He squeezed her hand.

“I know.” A soft smile graced her lips. “Home is with you anyway.”

“So fucking cheesy.” He laughed as they crossed the threshold of the gate, It closed firmly behind them with a clatter of metal. “Right or left?”

“Left.”

And so, one book comes to a close and a new one begins. For Clint and Dee, the world will never return to what it had once been. The light was gone from their lives and what remained was a dim ghost of it, filtering through the clouds of dust still lingering in their memory. The damage was done to these two, as it had been done to countless others.

Now these two wayward souls have begun to heal but what scars will the wounds leave behind? How will these scars impact their futures?

Let us go now together onward, down the road as we follow them. What will they write within the blank pages of their book together? What will their story hold?

Will they find light and joy? Perhaps they’ll wed and build a life somewhere where none knows either of their faces. Perhaps they’ll find darkness. Will they cling to pain? Will there be bloodshed?

For all the questions, the answers lay on the road ahead of them and the experiences they shall share. Let us follow them together.

~~~~~<3

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