"Kids, we need to talk."

The echo of their father's voice through the vents made Callie and Nicky both look up from their respective phones, panic written on their faces. The latter began to frantically look for places that he could escape, while the former panicked about what could've brought this talk on. "You didn't bring a guy home, did you?" Nicky asked, rattling the vent covers. No such luck.

"I'm so insulted you'd think I'd do that," Callie scoffed, watching her brother continue to try the various vent covers around his room. "First of all, if I brought a guy home, Mom would give him the third degree on sight, which would scare the shit out of him -"

"Language!"

"Oh, come on, even Uncle Steve's learned how to use the vents?" Callie sighed, flopping back on the bed. "Second of all, if I brought a guy home, it would've required me to have left the Tower at least three times in the last week." She winced, pressing a hand to her side. "Which would've happened had Aunt Skye not beat the sh -" Nicky turned, raising an eyebrow at her. "-the crap out of me."

"We're doomed," Nicky flopped next to her, chagrin on his face. "There's no way out. I bet Dad even locked the door."

"Technically, it was JARVIS who did it, but the point still stands," Clint said as he entered the room nonchalantly, taking a seat on the bed at his kids' feet. "Callie, Nicky, congrats on not breaking the window and escaping that way. Although should you ever have to face down a room full of enemies, consider it."

"It was Nicky!" Callie blurted out, pointing frantically at her brother. "He met this German exchange student in Greenwich last week, and they've been going out to lunch for the last month!" Both men turned to look at her, and she cradled her phone closely to her chest. "Sorry, Nicky. I like my phone. It's fun to subtweet Hunter whenever he says something stupid."

"Wow, Cals, thanks," Nicky scoffed in disbelief, then flinched when he saw Clint's impassive face. "Okay, but it's nothing serious! She offered to help teach me German in exchange for a tour guide around the city!"

"'Tour guide around the city.'" Callie deadpanned her finger quotes. "More like, 'tour guide around the local Duane Reade for supplies'." When Nicky's glare grew, she put her hands up. "Okay, Dad, no, not really. They didn't meet in Greenwich. Uncle Tony hired her last month, and we all know how his foreign language skills are."

"And he asked Nicky to do it?" Clint was pointedly not looking at his son, and he wasn't sure if that meant he was about to get subjected to the Spanish Inquisition or walk away unscathed. Maybe a little bit of both.

Callie shrugged, already occupying herself with her phone once more. "You know Nicky's one of the smartest engineers around. Apparently, none of the engineers in his department are good with foreign languages. Or, as Uncle Tony says, 'Speaking. At all'."

Clint sighed, making a mental note to once again have a word with Tony on the types of people he let Nicky near. "While that was good to hear, Callie, that's not what I'm here for."

"What?!" Nicky exclaimed. "She just sold me out for nothing?"

"Not for nothing," Callie smirked. "I'm sure Mom'll have Uncle Tony pinned to a wall with knives by tonight while Aunt Pepper just watches with wine from the couch." She finally looked up from her phone, stowing it away. "What did you want to talk to us about?"

Clint cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. "Well, since you two are eighteen, it's prime time that this conversation came up. You're both consenting adults, and with that comes a whole new set of responsibilities that you need to be informed about."

"Oh my god, Dad!" Callie was already halfway to the door. "I can't believe you were going to have the sex talk with Nicky while I was in the room!" She covered her eyes, trying to scrub the image from her mind. For his part, Nicky looked equally horrified, his phone dangling loosely from his hand. "Just because we're fraternal twins doesn't mean we do everything together!"

Clint stared at her for a minute before he burst into hysterical laughter, clutching his stomach as he tried not to fall off of the bed. Both teenagers stared at him as he failed to keep his balance and hit the floor, still cackling.

"You thought - you thought - oh my god, I can't believe it." Clint gripped the bed, still shaking, and tried to hoist himself up. "You thought I was giving you the sex talk?!"

"Well, yeah, duh," Callie stared in disbelief. "We're eighteen, we have responsibilities...was that not the sex talk?"

"First of all -" Clint held up a finger. "There's no way in he..." He looked at the vents. "Vahalla I would give you the sex talk. That one's for your mother. We made that pact when she got pregnant." He still couldn't quite get over the fact that Callie thought he'd tried to give her the sex talk. "Second of all, there are other responsibilities you have to uphold when you're eighteen."

"I promise not to drink and drive, smoke, or roofie underage girls," Nicky said in a monotone voice. "Anything else?"

"The fact that you thought of that first is alarming," Clint said, the color from his face fading slightly, "and you're going to have a talk with your Uncle Tony about that. Maybe with your Uncle Lance in attendance. But no. I'm here to talk to you two about voting."

"Voting?"

"Yeah. We live in a democracy, remember? It may not seem like it with Aunt Skye running around - that's anarchy, kids - but we do, as well as you, have the power to choose who's going to represent this country for the next four years." At that, Clint's face grew serious. "I know you two have both been watching the news, and I'm going to put it bluntly: this country has the serious potential to go to shit."

"I feel like Uncle Steve should be giving this lecture," Nicky whispered to Callie.

"It's about time you learned that you do have the power to change the future of your country, simply by filling in a little bubble on a piece of paper." Clint clapped his hands. "Which is why I want the both of you to register to vote."

Both twins stared at him. "That's it?" Callie asked, still suspicious. "You want us to register and vote? There's no catch to it?"

"That's it." Clint shrugged. "I know it might feel like a dangerous step into adulthood - voting isn't a decision we can make for you anymore - but it's one of the more harmless steps, and there'll be things a lot scarier than that." He snorted. "You should've seen the first time Aunt Skye tried to do her taxes."

"It wasn't any less entertaining than when he got a letter from the IRS and freaked out," Skye retorted as she walked in. "Hello, kiddos. I am the cool aunt, and therefore, I'm going to take you two to register. And then maybe the bar, since you're adults."

"Skye," Clint groaned. "They're 18, not 21. You are not drinking my son under the table."

Skye shrugged. "The more tolerance he gets, the better. You obviously haven't been to a frat party in a while." She turned to Callie and Nicky, who both looked mystified and somewhat confused. "Get dressed. We leave in ten."

"Change in plans!" Bobbi poked her head out from the vent above Nicky's head, causing him to shriek and fall off of the bed. "Apparently there's a bunch of European goons in this tower who aren't registered yet, so they'll be taking Cals and Nickles to go register." She looked down at Nicky. "Eighteen years of jump scares and you're still not used to this? Lame."

"Thanks, Aunt Bobbi."

The trick about the registration building hadn't been that it was hard to find. It hadn't been that they'd lost FitzSimmons on the way there (although that had almost happened once, when they'd been sidetracked by a churro truck). It hadn't even been that they were basically staring down one of the biggest responsibilities as an American citizen.

No, it'd been the fact that there'd been a Chipotle right next to the registration building, and the twins had proved somewhat of a challenge to keep in line.

"Come on, pleeeeeeeeeeease?" Callie begged Hunter, trying to drag him away from the tedium of politics to the temptation of sofritas and extra guacamole. "I promise we can register to vote after! I really want Chipotle, Uncle Lance! Pleeeeease?"

"Cals, as much as I would love to go next door and have overpriced Mexican food," Hunter answered exasperatedly, "Bob'll have my arse if I come back without having you all registered. And that goes for you lot, too," he called over to FitzSimmons, who had also been trying to sneak over to Chipotle. "Sneak off and I'll take away your lab fobs." FitzSimmons sighed in unison before turning around and marching back to the building.

"Come on, Cals," Fitz called. "I'll take you for Chipotle if we register. Hunter's a bloody arse." The four of them locked arms and walked in, leaving Hunter to jog behind them like a lunatic.

"See?" Simmons asked when they were handed the forms. Her tone was a little too cheery, the only sign that she was just as scared as they were. "All we have to do is fill out this piece of paper. It's not so bad. Fitz and I saw much worse when we were at the Academy."

"You might have," Nicky said as he flipped the first page open, scanning the columns. "Social Security number?!" he hissed to Callie and Hunter. "I don't even know my Social Security number!" He pushed the forms back. "That's it. I can't. I'm not filling out the forms."

Callie sighed and slid him a piece of paper. "Here's your Social Security number, your address and your date of birth." When Nicky gave her a deadpan look, she shrugged. "I had to cover all of the bases. Just in case you somehow forgot."

"There we go," Fitz signed his name with a flourish, sliding the papers over to the registration official. "All done, all registered." He turned to Simmons, who was holding the papers up to her face in an attempt to read the fine print. "Jemma. It's registering to vote, not the bloody Academy contract. Just sign it and go."

"Oh, hush, Fitz, I'm just checking!" The mortification was still present on Simmons' face, however, as she clicked her pen shut and slid the papers through the cracks. "Callie, Nicky, are you two done?"

"As done as I can ever be," Callie said doubtfully, sliding her papers over. "Wow, I'm registered to vote before I can drive." She turned to Hunter, who was just signing his papers. "How long do you think before Mom lets me drive?"

"Honest truth, love?" Hunter asked, clicking his pen. "You'll be flying circles around May before your mum lets you drive. I've seen her on the road. It's not pretty." He turned to FitzSimmons, who were watching him with identical puppy dog faces. "Alright, you two. Let's go stuff some sofritas into you before one of you perishes with hunger."

September 26th

"When I registered to vote, I didn't think it meant I'd have to be an actual informed citizen," Callie groaned as all of them settled into one of Tony's infinite couches. "Besides, the debates are so long. Can't I just watch the Buzzfeed version later?"

"Your system of governing is quite mysterious, Lady Catalina," Thor said to her as he sat down, nearly upending the couch due to the inbalance. "I do not understand why one has to be a certain age to be able to run for this position."

"Well, maybe if you ran for president one day, you could - hey, wait!" Callie turned to the rest of the Bus team in mock outrage. "How come Thor didn't come register with us?"

Coulson gave her a deadpan look. "Have you ever tried taking an Asgardian to do anything?"

"Alright, ladies, gents, and young whippersnappers, are you ready for the one, the only, DEBATES WITH SKYE?" Skye ran in, flanked by Hunter and Clint. Each of them were holding a bottle of alcohol in each hand, and Natasha trailed behind, a box of shot glasses in her arms. All were distributed, seats were taken, and Tony turned on the TV.

"What are the rules?" Bobbi asked offhandedly, pouring herself a shot. She'd been drinking during debates since she'd been old enough to vote, and every election year, she needed more alcohol. This year's drama was bad enough that it called for pre-shots.

"Drink every time Trump says something offensive?" Simmons suggested. Hunter filled her glass to the rim, shrugging when she frowned at him. "Or every time the moderator can't get a word in edgewise?"

Natasha snorted. "If we did that, we'd all have alcohol poisoning within the thirty minutes." She threw back a shot, curling her fingers at Hunter to refill her glass. "Take a shot every time Skye says something that's actually relevant to the stupid thing that preceded it."

"Which is every time," Skye pointed out, confused. "Wouldn't you just give yourself alcohol poisoning either way?"

"I should hope not," Steve muttered. "If you're as smart as Trump is, I think your powers were a fluke." Tony snorted into his drink.

"I guess we'll find out, won't we?"

"The concept of global warming was created by and for the Chinese in order to make US manufacturing non-competitive,"

"EVERYBODY DRINK!" Simmons shouted gaily, raising her glass in the air. Beside her, Fitz watched with a look that was half worried, half amused. So far, she'd drunk the most out of everyone (including Bobbi, who was looking disgruntled at having lost her title) and was currently on her feet, trying to make the toast.

"I never said that."

Skye scoffed from where she was nursing her beer. She couldn't make accurate remarks unless she was sober. Which was regrettable, as it didn't excuse her when she threw things at the TV, but... "You do say that."

"Interruption!" Hunter pointed his bottle at the TV. "Crunches or shots, go!" As soon as he said it, the TV exploded into noise as both candidates tried to gain the upper hand, forcing every one of them into action.

"I CAN'T!" Clint yelled as he doubled over after another crunch. "Just take me now, Odin," he panted, clutching at his side. "I'd rather go to Asgard than live on this shitty planet where there's a chance that orange is becoming president! Take me now!"

Natasha regarded him with amusement. "Clint, you know we can just move to another country, right?" But he was too busy gasping still to reply, so she just shrugged and kept counting the interruptions.

"Poor Lester," Skye wheezed, forcing herself into another push-up. "And my poor arms!" was all she got out before collapsing with a thump onto the floor. May gave her a deadpan look from where she was still sitting on the couch, sipping at her drink.

"I'm starting to think you're not very good at this whole 'snark the election' thing."

"This is a really long SNL open. It's getting old."

"No," Coulson said loudly as NIcky took advantage of everyone's stunned silence to try and lift a shot glass out of the box next to Natasha's feet. Startled, he dropped the glass, letting it clink back amongst its friends. Hunter shot him a dirty look that was either reprimanding him for trying to drink underage or for having been caught - he couldn't tell.

Across the room, Callie smirked and wiggled her own shot glass at him. "Put it down," Bobbi didn't even turn her gaze from the TV as she said it, but Callie was chagrined all the same when she returned the glass to the box.

"But Aunt Bobbi!" This time, Bobbi did turn her gaze to her, an eyebrow raised. "You were drinking at eighteen!"

"Yeah, and look what she became," Hunter groused. Simmons smacked him in the back of the head.

"With the amount of brain cells you have, I'd wager you started drinking when you were small."

"I'm due to release my tax returns, but I'm under audit. That makes me smart, and not stupid. I'm very good at what I do, and I'll make sure the American people get their money back from Mexico, and our jobs back from Mexico, and our illegal aliens back on the other side of the wall."

That one stunned them all. "I..." Mack looked wildly towards Elena, who had seized a bottle of gin and was chugging it down wholeheartedly. On her other side, Joey was doing the same, except with two beer necks stuck into his mouth together. "Fuck it." He grabbed his own bottle following their example.

"I can't even..." Skye struggled to form a sentence as she tried to comprehend just where that sentence had started and ended. "Okay? Okay. You're under audit, which will get illegal aliens on the other side of a wall that you're gonna make the Mexicans pay for?" She turned towards Elena. "If I get you close enough, can you kill him?"

"Hillary! Is the reason that ISIS is still there. She and Obama, with all of their time together, could've prevented ISIS from forming, but thanks to their inexperience, ISIS is still going strong! In fact, they're the reason it started! It was a very, very, very bad decision that shows what Hillary's like in office. Do you want a woman with that stamina for President? I know I wouldn't! Crooked Hillary deserves to be put in jail with that stamina. Very bad. Just. Very bad."

"Reminds me of when I was in middle school," Skye snorted. "I had to write those stupid essays about holiday traditions and families and I never met the word count for any of them." She pulled a face, setting down her beer. "SHE IS VERY VERY CROOKED NOT HONEST VERY CROOKED. STUPID." Simmons burst into laughter, obviously way past her drunken limit. The rest of them just stared at her. "Oh, come on. I'm not funny?"

"I'm dying of laughter," Tony reassured her with a deadpan. "This election's just taken all of the humor out of me." He threw back another shot as the debate continued, muttering to himself. "Idiot wouldn't know the difference between a raccoon and a mink coat even if it was lit up in neon right next to him."

"Chicago, where there's been so much inter-city violence, is a perfect example of how we should be training our law enforcement officers. Chicago, whose murder rates have plummeted in the last century, could really serve as a great example of our stop and frisk program!"

"So, like, did he make a bet with some spray tan company that if he mentioned the word 'Chicago' enough times, he'd get free tans for life?" Skye asked, swapping beer bottles for the first time that night. "Because aside from the words 'crooked' and 'Hillary', that's literally the word he's said the most all night."

"Not true," Nicky told her, looking up from his computer. "The word he's said the most is 'I'." She snorted and faked throwing her empty bottle at him. "That'd be an upgrade, at least I could try and get a couple of drops out of it!"

"What is your obsession with drinking?" Clint asked, turning around to his son. "It's literally nothing big! You can very well wait three goddamn years to drink, Nikolai, and if you keep trying, I'll make it so you won't drink until you're thirty."

He was met with a stunned silence. "Wow, Dad Barton really layin' down the law," Bobbi quipped, reaching for some Chardonnay. "Well, it could be worse. He could be a sugar daddy." That was met with a horrified squawk from Clint and Natasha snatching her alcohol from her. "Hey! I need that to get through the debate!"

"Simmons, do you have anything that can sedate Morse for the course of the election and leave her alive?" Natasha deadpanned. "And do you have a lot? I think it's the only way to make it through." Their attention was drawn to the applause suddenly filling the speakers, all of them letting out sighs of relief when both candidates stood and went to shake hands with the moderator.

"I...I don't know what that debate was," Skye said as she tipped back the rest of her beer. "All I know is after this is that I love lamp."

Fitz stared at her. "That doesn't even make any sense."

"I know."

October 7

"I go in there and I grab them by the -"

"OH NO YOU DON'T!" With a quick nod to each other, FitzSimmons slapped their hands over Callie and Nicky's ears in complete unison, ignoring both kids' protests. Both of them winced as the rest of the quote rolled through, only removing themselves when the news story changed to the Hulk rampaging through Harlem.

"Aw, come on, guys! We're not little anymore!" Nicky whined. "We can handle people saying things like that! I hear it on the streets all the time!"

"Yeah!" Callie echoed. "I beat the shit out of people for saying it to me on the streets all the time!" Simmons raised an eyebrow. "Mom always turns around! Or at least pretends not to see it! I'm perfectly fine!"

"It isn't that, what concerns me is that men say that to you, Callie," Simmons' forehead creased with worry. "We don't need any of your catcallers reaching stalker status. Especially with the state of today's society. Perhaps I can speak with Agent Romanoff about upgrading your detail?"

"Any more detail and it'd be worse than the damn Secret Service," Natasha chuckled, catching the last of the conversation as she strode in. "I assume we're talking about what the asshole Cheeto said."

"So that's why there was a photoshopped photo of a flaming orange on a Cheeto," Fitz said in wonder. "I always wondered why they chose a Cheeto, anyways. It's a perfectly good snack that shouldn't be defaced by an orange -"

"Fitz, it's a junk food, by definition it's bad for you, I thought I got rid of all of the bags you had -!"

"So that was you, huh, Jemma? Always figured Skye for a thief, but never you!" Fitz looked on the verge of tears. "You know how badly I loved those Cheetos!"

"Tea! Crumpet!" Callie clapped her hands to get their attention. "Chill. They're just. Cheetos. Uncle Fitz, we'll get you more. Aunt Jemma, you don't get to take them this time, okay?" Simmons heaved a large sigh. "But no flaming ones. Uncle Tony had them once and he didn't move off of the toilet for three hours."

FitzSimmons both sighed in unison and stalked off in different directions.

October 9

The mood in the living room that night was decidedly more dejected that night as they filed in, everyone's drinks in hand. Bobbi was ready with two bottles, twirling them as she did her staves. Callie sat next to her, a hopeful look on her face as the older blonde uncorked the first bottle, bringing it to her mouth in a salute to that night's debate.

"No," Bobbi said after her first swig. "I'm not going to be responsible for corrupting you." She gave Callie a small smile, handing her the second bottle. "Although I did bring you a bottle of sparkling cider." She almost spit out her wine as Callie hugged her tightly, uncorking the cider and pretending to chug it just as she had.

"That was just locker room talk, you know. Nothing serious, happens all the time."

"That's not fucking locker room talk, you piece of shit!" Clint burst out at the TV, waving a fist. Tony had to duck to avoid a piece of popcorn being thrown at the oversized screen. "I grew up in a circus! That's not what we say backstage!"

"Is this real life?" Skye wondered to no one, cracking open her second beer despite the debate having started only a short time ago. "Is this just fantasy?"

"Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality," Nicky answered, popping a Hot Pocket into his mouth. Bruce looked on disapprovingly. "Guys, look, it's a Cheeto!"

"And a fly," Skye commented. "Someone kill the fly, please?" When the fly showed no sign of death anytime soon, she sighed. "Well, that proves my hypothesis that Trump's a bag of shit."

"My microphone had accidentally picked up those words. They were not meant to be released to the general public, and should be disregarded,"

"Trump is an actual baby," Skye said flatly, draining an entire bottle of beer. "A grown, leathery Cheeto baby." She popped a Cheeto into her mouth, crunching down on it in satisfaction. "Something tells me his parents are regretting getting it on right about now."

Tony snorted. "Sure was a hole in that condom." Next to him, Steve winced.

"Language."

"Hey, Uncle Bucky?" Callie asked a few minutes later, upon hearing about the increased usage of stop and frisk. "If Trump wins, can I borrow your cryofreeze unit?" Bucky snorted from where he'd been leaning against Steve on the couch.

"Cals, if he wins, you'll have to fight me to get back in the unit. I guarantee you you'll probably also have to fight your mother, too." Callie groaned. Why would she have to suffer through four years while Natasha got to freeze it away?

"INTERRUPTION!" Nicky all but screamed. Clint groaned as he started his round of pushups, collapsing on the floor by the time he made it to ten. Thor looked at him in concern, sipping at his mead.

"Are you well, Friend Barton?"

"Next time, remind me to drink," Clint groaned, pointing an accusing finger at Nicky. "This is all your fault."

Natasha frowned. "Am I imagining that, or am I hearing little puffs of air when he walks?"

"Nah," Skye said. "Trump's literally walking around his chair and farting in a circle." They watched as he stood behind his chair, occasionally rocking back and forth. "And he likes fucking chairs, too!" She sighed heavily. "What sort of man that refers to himself in the third person - twice - makes it this far in the presidential process?" She held out her hand, Fitz slapping her laptop into it. "I'm going look for the best places to live in Canada."

"She's got bad judgement, and honestly so bad."

"Sounds like Hill when she's driving," Tony muttered under his breath, lurching forward as Natasha whacked him in the shoulder. "Ow! Natashalie!"

"You've never driven a day in your life, Stark, I wouldn't trust you to have better judgement than Callie when she drives."

"I can't drive yet, Mom!" Callie threw her hands up in defense. "I should've learned to drive before I learned to vote! I don't even have my permit! Why is it I can fly, but I can't drive a car like millions of other citizens in this country?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Cals. Don't tell me you haven't been taken out to drive." Callie rolled her eyes right back - everyone had been too scared to take her, despite her pleading attempts. "No one? No one at all?"

"Inner cities, like Chicago, have done so much good in implementing the increased Stop 'n Frisk programs. Violence has been brought down in the inner cities, minorities have been helped so much in the inner cities..."

"Can you say racism?" Skye asked bitterly, holding out her hand for another beer. Bruce took one at her and put a glass of water in her hand instead. "A black man asks a question, and he starts talking about inner cities. Un-fucking-believable." She downed the drink. "Aw, man, Bruce, why'd you cut me off? The room hasn't even started spinning yet!"

The end of Hillary's second response prompted an interruption from Trump, but before he could even begin, Simmons had already snatched the remote and hit mute. "I can already predict his response," she deadpanned, taking another large sip of her drink. "I'VE HEARD PEOPLE SAY THESE THINGS," she began, pushing her lips out and squinting. "WORDS WORDS TREMENDOUS BLAH BLAH POOPIE PANTS. Honestly, up yours!" she exclaimed, holding up a peace sign towards the TV.

"What grace," Bobbi snickered, holding back her laughter with the rest of them. "What British."

October 19

"He's a puppet of the Russian government -"

"No, you're the puppet. And I have nothing to do with the Russian government. Putin and I are not friends, despite what Hillary may say. I am not with the Russian government."

"I smell alcohol," Tony sniffed the air dramatically. "Which one of you pregamed? You know that's against the rules of election drinking!"

"It's not fair," Bobbi muttered from her spot on the couch. "Simmons always outdrinks me. I don't know how, but she does. I'm the one who's supposed to drink too much during election season, not her."

"'Cause Simmons is a bloody cheater, tha's why!" Fitz yelled from the other side of the room. "You think you're the only one that gets to drinkin' before the debate starts? She's three drinks in by now!"

"Jemma Simmons, you arse!" Hunter called. "You said you were doin' all of your drinking fair and square!" He, Clint and Tony all launched into a round of boisterous boos at the scientist, making Simmons shake her head and give them the middle finger.

"Just to be clear," Callie said loudly, still upset that she hadn't been allowed to join the drinking game, "Who's the puppet again?"

Clint and Tony pointed to Hunter, who pointed at Fitz. He in turn pointed to Simmons, who scoffed and pointed to Clint. "So, literally everyone," Skye deadpanned, taking a swig of her drink. "Lovely. Never depend on us to save the Earth."

"Putin is not my best friend. I have nothing to do with the Russian government, as I have said before."

"That's right, I forgot," May muttered under her breath. "It's Kim Jong-un." Coulson burst into snorts of laughter, nearly inhaling his drink up his nose. Steve had to pat him on the back several times.

"Putin is not my best friend," Tony mocked, taking on an impression of Trump. "He's my best friend FOREVER, okay? It makes a difference. Bigly." He shuddered and down his entire shot. "I never want to hear the word 'bigly' again."

"Obviously, you weren't meant to hear that," Clint deadpanned. "When he said that, the microphones weren't supposed to be recording, so you were supposed to disregard that." He rolled his eyes, cracking open another can of beer. "I bet somewhere, Putin's burning all of his friendship bracelets right now."

Natasha snorted. "He probably is. I know for a fact he has them." Clint and Tony stared at her. "Yeah. One for each of the countries he's on good terms with. They get passed down through the years. Did you know the German one has a swastika on it?"

THUMP.

"Oh, bloody hell, Simmons is out," Fitz groaned. He put his own drink down, picking her up with a sigh. "I'll see evr'ybody in the morning. If I don't make it, you know what happened." Most of them raised their glasses, cans and bottles in farewell, never taking their eyes off of the screen.

"Five bucks says Morse is next," Coulson whispered to May. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Morse? Have you ever seen Morse drink?" she asked. "No way. It's totally going to be Hunter. He's such a lightweight." Eyebrows raised, he accepted the bet, slapping a five-dollar bill into her hand.

He was proved wrong not even ten minutes later, when Bobbi was unforgivingly dragging Hunter from the room, his feet sparking occasionally from the friction in his socks. May smirked as Coulson groaned, downing the rest of his beer.

"You know, there's really only one pity about this entire debate," Skye said with relish, twirling a bottle in her hand. "The microphone's covering his neck vagina." The remaining men choked on their drinks, Steve turning a shade of red usually reserved for Natasha's hair.

"Skye," Coulson said, pained. "You're grounded for a month."

"Wha - what the hell, DC?" Skye demanded. "You're not my dad! And you can't ground me for a month!" She took a sip of beer almost defyingly. "I'm too old to be grounded! Being grounded stops when you start drinking!"

"Really?!" Callie and Nicky exclaimed in unison. Natasha shot Skye a withering look before turning to both kids.

"No, as usual, your Aunt Skye's lying," she deadpanned, rolling her eyes when she was met with protests. "You can get grounded as long as you live under Uncle Tony's roof, you hear me?"

"Yes, mom."

November 8

"EVERYBODY UP!" Joey, Elena and Steve had taken it upon themselves to rouse every inhabitant in the Tower by banging incessantly on the pots and pans they'd liberated from the kitchen.

"Up, up, up!" Elena proclaimed fake-cheerfully when Mack opened the door, sleep all over his face. "Time to go ad do your civic duty! I'm sorry," she whispered when Mack didn't budge. "Steve promised me pancakes." He just rolled his eyes and shut the door. "Make sure you get ready!" She pounded on the door. "Whoever gets the most people up wins an extra stack of pancakes!"

"Nooooooooooooooooo," Callie grumbled, stuffing her pillow over her head to drown out the sound of banging. She peeked at the clock for a second, swearing under her breath when she made out a 7. "IT'S TOO EARLY!" she hollered at the door. "LET ME GET UP LATER!"

"Callie, open the door or I swear I'll melt your doorknob." Oh, so it was blackmail now, Callie grumbled mentally as she wrenched open the door, made a grunt at Joey, and slammed it shut again, stumbling back towards the bed. "And you'd better not be going back to bed!"

"I do what I want," Callie yelled to him. "I'm 18." Her newfound state of sleep lasted all of a minute and a half, broken by Bobbi poking her head into the vents, a chipper look on her face.

"Up up, Cals. I'll take you for some IHOP if you get up and vote early." For the second time, the teenager cracked an eye open, giving Bobbi an apprehensive look. "I promise. I won't even judge you when you put all of the syrup on the pancakes."

"You'd better not judge me." Callie rolled out of bed and towards the closet, studiously ignoring Bobbi's judging stare as she went across the room. "You said you wouldn't judge!"

"I'm not...but I didn't know you still liked Despicable Me. I thought you grew out of that phase."

"Shut up, Aunt Bobbi."

"Psst. Nicky. Nicky. Niiiickkyyy."

"Go 'way, Dad, 'm sleeping..." Nicky swatted at an imaginary Clint, rolling over before promptly falling back asleep. The older Barton wasn't deterred, however, and was soon met with a bucket of ice cold water, scaring him awake. "WHAT THE HELL?!"

"LANGUAGE!"

"Oh come on, Steve!" Clint yelled back. "And get out of my vents!" He turned to Nicky, who was still groggily trying to wipe himself dry. "Here's a towel. Now get up. We have to vote, yes, but your Uncle Lance is still passed out and I want you to wake him up."

"What." Nicky glared up at him. "You woke me up and you want me to poke a sleeping bear?"

"Technically, it's a hungover sleeping bear," Clint corrected. "Which isn't actually as bad. But it's still pretty bad. And you always did say you wanted to prank Hunter."

"I'm going to regret this," Nicky said to the open as Clint hoisted him into the vents, both of them crawling in the direction of Hunter's room. "I'm definitely going to regret this because I can't crawl as fast you can and you're gonna leave me to Hunter like you did the last time - "

"Nicky," Clint scolded jokingly. "All we have to do his pour the water on his head and crawl away as fast as we can. There's nothing difficult involved. I know it wasn't fair to ask you last time to dump the bucket of maggots, but in my defense, I had to handle them." He quietly removed Hunter's vent cover, handing the bucket of water to his son. "Ready?"

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL -"

"GO GO GO!" Clint yelled at Nicky, and the two of them began to crawl back to his room as fast as they could, holding in their snickers at Hunter's supposed stumbling around his room. Laughing, they dropped back into Nicky's room, catching their breath. "But do get dressed," he said seriously when they recovered. "We're going out to vote."

Callie and Nicky were both grinning from ear to ear as they emerged with their little I Voted stickers, sticking them onto their foreheads almost immediately. "Well, some things never change," Natasha sighed as she high-fived both of them.

"I voted, and it's before 9 in the morning," Callie shot back. "And Aunt Bobbi promised she'd take me to IHOP. I haven't gotten up this early in years. I want pancakes."

"Geez," Bobbi muttered. "You promise a kid pancakes, and suddenly they're the whiniest kid in the world. Come on, Cals. You're probably hungry, let's go eat before you kill a man in the streets." Nicky was left to stare as both of them headed down the street, his stomach growling with patriotism and a need for sugar.

"So sorry I can't take your for pancakes, mate, I'm not girly-girl like that," Hunter was suddenly at his side, a surprisingly still hand on his shoulder given all that he'd drunk the night before. Nicky shrugged off his hand, trying to bite back his disappointment. "I know this pretty good diner down the street, though." Hunter gave him a crooked grin. "They've got this 10-pound hash brown challenge I've been meaning to try out for a while now. You wanna watch Fitz try and drown himself in a sack of potatoes?"

"Oh, please do come," Simmons begged. "There's two of them and only one of me, and, well, it wouldn't do very well for me if both of them happened to have too many carbohydrates, and you know how both of them get when they have too many!"

"Bug off, Jem," Fitz muttered. "It was that one time."

"Too late, no choice, you're going, mate," Hunter answered, slinging an arm around Nicky and half-dragging him down the street. "All the hash browns we can eat, here we come!"

8PM

"I don't get why we're watching," Skye said later that night as everyone piled into the living room for one last time, drinks in hand. "If Hillary's supposed to win the election by a good margin, can't we all just go to bed early and call it a night? Cals and I are supposed to go to an eating contest tomorrow."

"Because you're being a good citizen, Johnson," Mack rolled his eyes as he slid down next to her. "Besides, it could get to be a close race. You never know."

Clint flipped the TV on, and instantly the room was filled with groans. "44 only?!" he demanded. "What the fuck is going on with this country?"

"It's early," Natasha reminded him, placing a hand on his arm. "California is always Democratic, and they come in later, just remember. It's still anyone's race."

"I think 'anyone's race' constitutes a drink," Hunter muttered loudly, opening his beer. "If we have to watch sober, I'm out of this room faster than you can say 'they're not actually building a wall'." Several mutters of 'cheers' were exchanged and bottles tipped back, both Barton children watching with envious awe.

"How about we turn on the TV every half hour?" Steve suggested as the moderator launched into the same political analysis of the election for the third time in ten minutes. He hit the mute button, laughing at Skye, Callie and Nicky's cries of relief. "We can do something else while we wait."

"Drink," Bobbi proclaimed loudly, raising her glass. "And for the young'uns, y'all can play a game of Monopoly or something." Both kids were silent as they just stared.

"Nicky," Callie said finally. "No matter what the outcome of the election, no matter how late we stay up, we're getting up before Aunt Bobbi tomorrow and pitching her stash of Chardonnay out the window." Nicky nodded. "And maybe we'll burn her closet, too."

"Don't you think that's a little harsh, Cals?"

"Nicky, she literally just called us kids. That's only for Uncle Tony when he's being immature."

"Hey!"

"Stop being a kid, Stark," Natasha deadpanned. "Just drink and maybe you won't remember anything embarrassing you do tonight."

"Burn the closet it is, then," Tony said to Callie. "I'll break into your mother's vodka stash."

9PM

"EYY NEW YORK!" Tony and Clint cheered, high-fiving as New York was finally declared blue. They sobered a little as they regarded the rest of the country, most of it swathed in red. Nicky was curled up against his father's side, watching the screen with apprehension written all over his face.

Elena sighed. "It is only New York," she reminded them. "A good chance of victory has to include Ohio, Florida or Michigan. All three would help." She, unlike most of them, was nursing only her first beer, sitting with Joey in quiet solidarity.

Clint popped open another beer, taking a swig of it. "I don't even know what to say about Florida, to be honest," he grumbled. "It's a fucking shitshow." He turned to look at Steve, who was wearing a Clinton T-shirt. "Hey, where'd you even get that? I want one!"

"You're not Captain America," Natasha snorted. "Become a symbol of this country, and then we'll talk about it."

Skye looked up from her phone. "More Republican senators, guys. This isn't going to turn out well for Congress." She looked at Coulson. "Are you sure I can't hack the election? Please? I'd go down in history if I did! I could make someone good senator! Hell, I could make you senator! Or Steve!"

May snorted from her spot on the other side of the room. "I'm not sure Captain Rogers meets the age requirements to become senator, Skye. Although I wouldn't discourage you from putting Phil in."

Coulson pouted.

10PM

"There it is," Bobbi called out as Clinton's score went up once more. "Good ole California, loyal until the end." She settled back onto the couch, where she had prepared several noisemakers and party hats. "It's only a matter of time."

Simmons gave her a long look. "If you keep drinking like that, it'll only be a matter of time for your liver." Bobbi just rolled her eyes and cracked open another bottle of wine, pouring herself a glass instead of chugging it straight.

"There, I'm having it in moderation. You happy?"

"Aunt Jemma, don't," Callie tried to begin, but was cut off by Simmons' huff.

"Frankly, Bobbi, I'm disappointed at the rate you've been drinking during this election season," Simmons began, standing so that she was taller than the blonde agent. "You, of all people, should know the example that sets on the younger people in this Tower. Think about what you're teaching them! And yes, Callie, I know you're not that young," she said before Callie could protest, "but you're still impressionable. Bobbi's behavior is just not norm for social drinking."

"She's old enough to know what's right and what's not," Bobbi argued, her speech slightly slurred as she emptied her glass. "She knows I'm a million shade of fucked up, so why the hell not? Besides, this election's going to shit," she muttered, refilling it again. "Might as well get shitfaced along with it."

"You, Barbara Morse, are a shite excuse for a human being!" Simmons shrieked shrilly, causing the whole room to go silent and turn towards the argument. Fitz was one-handedly trying to turn off the TV with the remote, clicking it uselessly before Mack snatched it from him and turned it off himself. Even Bobbi was staring at Simmons with a hint of surprise, her wineglass hanging loosely from her hand.

"Say that again," she challenged quietly, setting the alcohol down. "I dare you to say that again, Jemma."

"You - what you're doing - is being a shite excuse for a human being," Simmons ranted. "You think that, just because the election isn't going the way you want it to go, that you can just laugh and drink it off like nothing is going to happen. You act like nothing is going to change because of this election, and you can just drink it all away!" She smacked the wineglass off of the table, Joey leaping to catch it. "I've got news for you, Barbara," she hissed. "Whether you choose denial via alcoholism or not, things are going to change."

"Of course I know they're going to change," Bobbi shot back, standing and reclaiming her role as the taller one. "You think that I'm not scared, Simmons? You think I'm not scared that we could very well elect a sexist, rapist, homophobic, racist, xenophobic asshole with absolutely no experience in politics whatsoever? You think I don't give a damn about this election?" When Simmons tried to respond, she held up a hand. "No, you listen for a fucking second. If Trump wins this election, there's a lot of people who are going to be fucking screwed, a few of them who are in this room right fucking now. There's a ton of women in this room. That's one. Even the men in this room - it'll be just like the 1940's all over again. The people of color in this room, Jemma. You think I'm not scared for them? You think I don't think about how they'll always have the opportunity to be mocked and teased? The fucking LGBTQ+ youth, Jemma. I'm fucking scared for them, too. I'm scared, Simmons." Bobbi opened another drink. "And if drinking is the only way I can stave off what looks like appointing the beginning of the end, then I'm fucking going to do it." She gave Simmons a withering glare. "I'm a straight, white, American-born citizen, but I'm still a fucking woman. And I'm damn scared."

Everyone just slowly turned back to the TV screen.

11PM

"And it looks like Florida has gone to Trump..."

"MOTHERFUCKING SHIT!" They all turned to see Elena seething with fury, one step away from punching the wall. "How could you?!" she demanded of the TV, the alcohol blotching her face. "How could you intentionally vote for someone that wants to send you back to where you came from?"

"I..." Coulson could only sit in shock. "I thought she was going to win Florida." May said nothing, only patted his shoulder in sympathy as she tried to digest the news. "This is it. It's over. He's going to win."

"It's not over until she concedes," Callie seethed. "I refuse to believe my first election is going to turn out this way. It's not gonna," she said, partly to herself. "It can't. There has to be some miracle."

"I'd best go tell Simmons," Fitz said, heaving himself off of the couch. The aforementioned scientist had fled to her room in tears after her confrontation with Bobbi, locking herself up and refusing to come out until morning. The shriek of 'NO!' a few minutes later did nothing to comfort them, Callie crawling over to Elena and Joey to give them a huge hug.

"Ah, it'll work out," Elena said reassuringly, her voice choked. "I'll survive. I came from an oppressive government, remember?"

"It's not the same," Callie mumbled. "'Specially for you, Uncle Joey."

"I'm good at acting straight," Joey joked, and they all saddened. At what point had he been in so much danger that he'd gotten good at being something he wasn't meant to be? "I just, uh...let's see, who's available here...?"

"Don't you dare," Lincoln called from across the room for the first time that night. It made Skye laugh, effectively relieving some of the tension in the room. Joey shot him a grin, laughing himself.

Mack sighed, flipping through his phone. "Sir," he called to Coulson. "Is it safe to assume Trump's stance on Inhumans runs the same to terrorists?" Coulson frowned at that - he hadn't thought that far ahead. Neither presidential candidate had put up a stance on Inhumans; he expected it to be an elect-by-elect basis.

He nodded. "Until we get better word, assume that."

Skye pouted. "So you're saying I can't quake the White House as soon as he moves in?"

"You're acting like it's already over," Nicky reminded her. "It's not over yet."

2:32AM

"He won."

Bruce's muted declaration seemed to slow the world down, all of them turning to the TV to see Trump supporters celebrating on screen. It was official: the red bar had passed the 270 mark, the sad blue bar seeming to recede the longer they looked at it.

"What's this mean, then?" Callie asked, her question quiet amongst the shock reverberating through the teams. "Is this it? Is this the beginning of the end?"

"It's..." Natasha struggled to find an answer. Was this really the world she was passing on to her children? One where she had to teach her daughter how to take down men twice her size, where Mack and Sam were always looked at with wary eyes? Where Elena being heckled in the streets was almost always going to be a certainty? "I don't know what it is,"

"You guys are going to be okay, right?" Nicky asked, looking around the Bus team. "Uncle Mack? Uncle Joey? Aunt Elena? Uncle Sam?" The four of them nodded.

"We're SHIELD agents - and Avengers," Mack added quickly when he caught Sam beginning to protest. "We're better prepared than most, but that doesn't mean that we're not going to fight for those who aren't prepared."

Steve nodded. "There's a fight going on the country, and it's our duty to protect it. To protect those that can't necessarily protect themselves."

Bobbi's eyes were dark, glistening with tears. "This isn't the beginning of the end, Cals. It's the end of a beginning no one ever gets to see." She gripped her niece's hands. "This is not the world you're going to grow up in. And if it means fighting for a better one until I die of old age, so be fucking it." Beside her, Hunter nodded. "The only question is, are you willing to fight for it?"

"You can all begin fighting tomorrow, after you've all gotten some sleep," Pepper said sternly, walking into the living room. Her eyes were fatigued and red-rimmed, her own sign she'd been crying. "I'm not sure anyone would take a bunch of half-asleep Avengers fighting all of the riots in the city very well."

"I can't get up," Clint groaned. "My head hurts." Natasha sighed, and with Steve and Thor, got up to get blankets and pillows.

3:30AM

"Hey, Cals?" Nicky whispered later that night, as they were squished between a mixture of Clint, Natasha, Bobbi and Hunter. "You know I've always got your six, right?"

Callie chuckled sleepily. "I can take care of myself, Nikolai," But she gave him a thumbs-up all the same. "And I've got your ten."

The results of this year's election weren't what anyone expected. No matter what side you were on, I'm sure you were surprised about the results. For those who were disappointed, this isn't the end. Fight. Fight like you've never fought before. For those who were satisfied, good for you. Just please don't try to put us in the Dark Ages, thanks. Despite it all, one common movement remains: voting. Voting is so, so, so important, and if you didn't this time around, or if you couldn't, please do so the next time you can. The best thing you can do to change your future is to make sure you have a say in it.