Anyone else would have slept through the barely audible thumping. A highly specialized SHIELD agent, however, is not anyone else. Clint opens his eyes and carefully slips his arm out from beneath Laura's, trying not to disturb her slumber. He's just gotten his feet on the floor and is about to stand when a hand gently touches his bare shoulder.

"You okay, honey?" a sleepy voice asks. Clint sighs. Damn her newly vamped maternal instincts.

"Yeah, sweetheart. I just-I heard something is all."

Laura turns over in bed, wrapping her arm around his waist. Her fingers linger gently on the scar on his side, and she sighs out a tiny groan. "I thought we agreed that we would stop getting Nate when he woke up. You're not wussing out on me now, are you? Come on, back to bed."

"It's not that, Laura."

She sits up, and he looks at her. There's worry in her eyes. He hates the sight of it. "You don't think-"

He shakes his head and puts a finger to her lips. "Ssh. Don't. I'm just gonna go outside and check it out, okay?" He plants a kiss on her forehead and stands, stretching as he does so. "I'm sure everything is fine, but…"

"But if I hear gunfire, I need to take the kids into the basement, lock the door, and call Stark tower. I know the drill," Laura says, her voice hollow. The worry is still there, but also the fierce look of a mother.

"Yeah. I'm sure it's just a, I dunno, raccoon or something. It'll be fine." He kisses her again and grabs his gun from the top shelf of his closet.

As he steps out into the night, the cold air hits him full-on, and a shiver runs down his spine. The ground is frosty, and within a few seconds, his feet are tingly, on the verge of completely numb. He really wishes he had thought to grab a bathrobe, or at least some slippers. He listens closely, and the sound of something breaking reaches his ears, followed by a light thump. It's coming from behind the barn. He runs forward silently. He can't feel his feet.

When he reached the front of the barn, he slows and creeps around one side, gun held out in front of him. There's someone there, a large dark shape facing away from him, and his heart pounds. He raises the gun and steps out from behind the wall.

"Don't. Move. An inch," he snarls. He doesn't even try to keep the emotion out of his voice. He has no doubt that the mixture of anger and worry-mostly anger-sounds more menacing than anything.

The shape starts to turn and Clint cocks his gun. "Slowly!" he barks. The man doesn't flinch, but does as he's told.

"Hey, Barton," a sheepish and familiar voice says. Clint lowers his gun, his brows knitting into a confused frown.

"Rogers?" He peers around the super soldier's frame to see a dark heap that, as his eyes adjust to the darkness, appears to be a pile of wood that had definitely not been there the day before. He looks back at the Avenger.

"Did you do this?" he asks.

Steve looks back at the pile. "That? Uh, yeah. I hope you don't mind. Laura said I was welcome any time and-"

"It's three in the morning. And you're here at my house. Chopping my wood," Clint says in disbelief.

Steve makes a face that's somewhere between a grimace and an apology. "Yeah. I guess I should have called first."

"Uh, yeah. You wanna tell me what the hell you're doing?"

Steve opens his mouth, then closes it as he takes in the half-naked archer. "It's a long story, and you look kind of cold. Maybe it would be better if we went inside to talk."

Clint had actually forgotten briefly about the chill, and now he realizes that he's shivering. He rubs half-heartedly at his arms, as if doing so could somehow force the goose bumps to recede back into his skin.

"Yeah, let's do that." As he and Steve head toward the house, Clint can't help but ask the question burning at the back of his mind. "How the hell did you even get here?"

"Greyhound, followed by a light jog."

Clint snorts. "Bullshit. The closest Greyhound station is, like-"

"Forty miles away. Yeah."

Clint sighs, shaking his head in disbelief. As he and Cap approach the house, he's concerned, but not surprised, to see his wife standing on the porch, one of the kid's blankets wrapped around her shoulders. As they step into the glow radiating from the porch light, she freezes, her face a mask of shock, before breaking into a grin and running over. She wraps her arms around Steve, who hugs her back, though he looks a little awkward and stiff about it.

"Steve! It's so good to see you! Come on in! Clint, go get some clothes on." As his wife gets Steve settled in the kitchen, Clint hurries off to the bedroom to do as he was told; he knows better than to do otherwise. He opens his closet and selects his very best flannel-a purple and gray one Nat and Fury had gotten him for one of his first Christmases away from home. He pulls it on, letting it warm him from the outside in. He also pulls on a pair of hideous knitted socks from his mother-in-law that, unattractive as they are, do an outstanding job of keeping his feet warm during the winter chill. By the time he's back in the kitchen, Steve is sitting at the table with a mug of hot chocolate and a piece of leftover birthday cake from Cooper's celebration.

"Barton, you have a lovely wife. She even gave me mini marshmallows for my hot chocolate! Can you believe it took me this long to have marshmallows in my cocoa?"

Clint can't help but smile at the sight: the Star-Spangled Avenger, all muscles and charm, sitting at the too-short table with his shoulder hunched as he grips a flowery "World's Best Mom" mug (Clint wonders if Lauren did that on purpose) in both hands, except for when he reaches over for a bite of cake decorated with Lightning McQueen.

Lauren walks over with another mug brimming with hot chocolate and pushes it into Clint's hands. "There you are. I know you'd prefer coffee, but someone is too stubborn to take the coffee maker to a repairman."

Clint smiles and kisses his wife. "I told you I'll fix it myself." He looks over at Steve. She does, too. "I think you boys probably have a lot to talk about," she says softly. "I'll check on Coop, make sure he's still asleep, and let you guys stay out here and have your chat."

Clint kisses her again. "You're the best."

"The mug doesn't lie," Steve says from behind him.

Lauren smiles as she heads for the kitchen doorway. "I like this one, Clint. You should have him over more often."

Clint waits until he hears the bedroom door shut, then sits across from Steve, cocoa in hand. He takes a sip, pleasantly surprised when he tastes just a hint of cinnamon. Damn he loves his wife. "So. You wanna tell me why you rode a Greyhound for who knows how long, then ran forty miles to come chop my wood?"

"I needed to blow off some steam somewhere private, where I could avoid fans and super heroes in training." He chuckles, but it's a melancholy sort of sound. "You know, after New York, I thought things would be easier with SHIELD. But obviously that all went to hell. HYDRA kept us-and the government-busy, and then Ultron. And after that, things were just-quiet. So Tony and Nat decided to help me look for-" He chokes on the name. Clint doesn't push. He knows who Cap is talking about.

"No sign of him then?"

Steve shakes his head. "Nah. You'd think with all of Stark's tech, finding a famous dead man with a metal arm would be easy. But…" He trails off and takes a long drink of cocoa.

"He's been hiding for the last seventy years, Cap. He's a pro. But Tony and Nat are on your side. They'll keep looking until they find him," Clint says, and he means it. Without the Captain, New York probably would have been a flop, HYDRA would still be hidden, slowly taking over the world, and he doesn't even want to imagine trying to take on Ultron without Rogers' cool head. And his vibranium shield, which is pretty freaking awesome.

Steve doesn't say anything, just takes a deep shuddery breath. Clint is startled to see that the man is obviously fighting back tears. It takes everything he has not to panic and call his wife back into the room.

"Steve, what's the matter?" he asks. It comes out too sharp. He winces, but Steve doesn't seem to notice.

"It's just, uh…I just…I got a call a few hours ago, and, uh, Peggy. She-" He shakes his head, covering his eyes with his hand.

Clint's heart drops to his stomach. Peggy had been Steve's only connection to his past-well, besides Bucky, but he's in the wind, and maybe doesn't even remember who Steve is. "Oh, no. Steve, I'm so sorry. If there's anything I can do, just say the word."

Steve nods gratefully, sniffling. "Thanks," he says, his voice tight with emotion. "You and Lauren have done enough for me already. I'm sorry to just show up like this, and then cry at your kitchen table-I was an idiot, you must have thought someone had come to-I'm sorry." He stares down at the table. A tear rolls down the end of his nose and hangs there a minute before falling onto the half-eaten slice of Cars cake.

"Hey," Clint says, standing up. "You've got nothing to be sorry for. Imagine if you'd gone to Stark's place. I think it's better for everyone that you found your way here."

Steve smiles a little at that. He rubs a sleeve across his eyes and stands slowly. "I should probably get going, get out of your hair."

"No," Clint says quickly. He blinks. That's what his wife would say, sure, but it seems weird coming from him. Whatever. He'll deal with it. "No, you should stay here for the night. The guest bedroom is the nursery now, but we've got a pretty comfortable wrap-around."

"No, I couldn't-"

"You're staying," Clint says firmly. "Or so help me I will tell my wife on you."

Steve looks doubtful. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. It's in here." He leads Steve to the back living room. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll go get you a pillow and blanket." He walks over to the linen closet, grimacing a little as the hinges creak, and grabs a feather pillow and the fuzziest blanket he can find-which just happens to be of Elsa, and so has the word Frozen written across the top in curly letters. He snickers. It's perfect.

When Steve sees it, he throws one of the decorative couch pillows at Clint's head. "I'll be fine without it, you ass."

"Language, Cap."

"Shut up!"

Laura is waiting for him when he finally goes back to bed. "How's he doing?" she whispers.

"He's had a rough day, but he's making it." He peels off his flannel and socks and gets settled in his spot. Laura scoots next to him and puts her arm over his chest, nuzzling her head between his neck and shoulder.

"You're a good friend to him," she says quietly.

The next morning, Clint walks into the living room to see Steve curled up in a tight ball beneath the Elsa blanket. He can't help it; he takes out his phone and snaps a picture. Maybe he's not such a good friend after all.

XXX