The sun's out. It's a summer afternoon and we're all in a good mood. That can only mean one thing in the Barton household. Hot dog picnic!

Hot dogs are great - they're easy to make, keep the kids happy and most importantly, it means we can make use of the grounds of the estate. It's a win, win, win in my book. This day has just been great from the start. Nathaniel's been getting better at his running, Cooper has turned off his music player for once and Lila has managed to hit three bullseyes in a row. Overall this day is turning out better than I ever thought it could. I'm glad I survived to see it.

My only wish was that Nat had gotten to see it too.

I realise after the fact that I'm actually really grateful for her sacrifice. Doesn't mean I'm almost monumentally pissed off at her for doing it. I was supposed to save her, that was my job. I was the one who saved her for the KGB, the one who helped her get into SHIELD. I was supposed to be the one to go.

I was so angry for a long time after I got back. I was so, so angry, at myself, at her, at anyone who looked at me funny. Laura must have the patience of God. I tried to be upbeat, I tried to be the best father I could be, but it's hard, knowing that you failed to save your best friend, that you're the reason her body's on some alien planet in god-knows-where, alone. It was Laura who helped me climb out of that hole, who reminded me that I was worth anything during those late night panic attacks.

I have Natasha to thank for all this. I'm gonna make it work, just for her. So, right now, I'm gonna sit down with my family, have lunch - without mayo - and just be happy I have the chance at all to do any of this.

"Clint, honey, did you remember the mayo?"

Okay, so I guess we're having mayo.

I rush back into the house. I remember when I first moved back in after those five years on the run. It looked like a wreck. I had refused to step inside this place for so long - the reminder of what I had lost was too painful. Now, it looks like how it's supposed to. Like a home. Our perfect home. Or at least it would be perfect if Nathaniel would pick up his lego. I scoop it back into the box and rush into the kitchen, picking up the mayo I had forgot the put on the table. I could leave it here, say we ran out. Nobody would know… but then Laura might find out. I may be a professional agent/former Avenger with perfect aim, but an angry Laura can give me the silent treatment, and that's much worse.

I pick up the mayo and head back outside. I stop for a moment, looking over at the picnic table. The image of my wife and children tucking in on lunch, with God's green country as their backdrop... It's picturesque, alright. It was worth fighting for, in the end.

"Room for two more?"

Now that's a voice I hadn't heard from in a while. Last I knew, Steve was off on a trip to return the stones. Sounds like he succeeded.

"You know," I announce as I turn, "There is such as thing as calling ahea…"

And just like that my throat fails and my brain screams to a stop. The mayo jar falls from my hand onto the grass. At first, I think I'm hallucinating. Then I think I'm dreaming. Then I assume I'm going mad. I glance back at my family, having lunch on the lawn. They're still here. Nothing's been reversed. I'm not back in time or some shit. Then who am I looking at? Because there's no way in hell that that's Natasha Romanoff standing right there in front of me as if nothing ever happened. As if I didn't see her fall to her death, all because of me.

"Hi, Clint," the illusion says in her voice. It takes step towards me.

"No," I say forcefully, pointed a finger dangerously at her, "No, no, you stay right there. You stay right there, and you don't come any closer."

She looks towards the face of Steve Rogers beside her and back to me. She frowns.

"Clint, I know this going to be hard to believe-"

"Oh, yeah? Will it? Will it, huh? You got that damn right."

My voice is wobbling from the tears that are forcing their way from my eyes, but my resolve is still holding. I won't give in to whatever the hell this is.

"Clint, this isn't a trick, it's her," Steve tries to assure me.

"You sure about that?" I fire back, my hand trembling. "You sure? Cause I saw her die. I saw fall and die, and you can't undo that."

"I thought she was dead too, Clint." He's taking small steps towards, trying to get me to calm down. "When I returned the soul stone, I thought she was gone for good. I was going to let her go, but the stone gave her back."

"No, that… that's not how it works," I whisper. "The guy said, the floating red guy said it was a soul for a soul—"

"It was," Steve explains. "But it was an exchange, not a transaction. I didn't expect to get her back, but because of that, because I was returning the stone, and only returning the stone, it gave her back. Something to do with 'pure intentions'."

"So what are we running by Harry Potter logic now?"

"It doesn't matter, though, surely? She's here. It's her, Clint," he repeats to me.

"He's not going to believe that," the form of Natasha Romanoff interrupts him. "But he'll believe this."

She takes a step closer to me. I take a step back. She gives me one of her infamous glares - or at least a really good imitation of one. If they're willing to go this far to trick, I might as well allow them to try. I stop in place, allowing her to step in front of me. She reaches one hand out, the other is placed behind her back.

She touches my abdomen.

"Right here is a bullet wound from Taxco," she says. "I had to spend the entire night patching it up while you caught the final round of the Super Bowl cause you refused to miss it."

Okay, so it has the memories of Natasha… or maybe it's reading my mind.

She reaches up to my collarbone, her finger resting atop another old wound.

"This was a scar you got from falling through the skylight at the Grand Plaza in Budapest. You refused to get it checked up until after the mission was over."

Finally, she reaches round to one on my waist, the sight of a broken hip bone. Her eyes darken as bad memories come to the forefront of her mind.

"This one you got from me. The day you came to bring me in, I hit you with my batons so hard it shattered your hip."

I smile. Gotcha.

"Actually, that one was from when I fell on a brick in the backyard. I was so embarrassed I just made that whole story up."

She stares at me, her brow furrowing, confusion racking her face.

"Wait, I didn't give you that scar?" She sounds almost disappointed, just like how Natasha would be.

"No, you didn't." She's not an illusion; she's not reading my mind. It's her. It's Nat. I draw her into a hug before she has a chance to reprimand me for lying to her. "Oh, god, Nat, don't you ever do that to me again."

She hugs me back just as tightly.

"I'm not planning to," she says. "Me and Steve, we're retiring. Just like you. We're out."

"We just thought we'd come round a bit of lunch," Steve explained, patting me on the back. "And to give everyone the news."

"What news?" I ask. I know I must be beaming right now, I must look like a real moron, but I don't care. My best friend is alive.

"Well," she says, drawing out the 'l' cheekily, "Let's just say I won't be 'Natasha Romanoff' for much longer."

She's fingering something on her hand. It's glinting in the midday sun. I know exactly what is before she shows it to me.

"So what do I call you now?" I ask. "'Natasha Rogers'?"

"I was maybe thinking of changing my name to 'Natalie'," she replies. I see Steve shake his head.

"I think Natasha is a beautiful name," he says.

"Yeah," I scoff, "Besides, 'Natalie Rogers'? That was my landlady's name when I bought this place."

I realise after a moment that I'm the only one laughing. Those two have matching smirks like they're both in on some kind of joke.

I'm about to ask what is when a thought occurs to me. Natalie Rogers, the kind old lady who practically gave this house away. The one had been living in it for years with her husband, Steven…

No way.

No freaking way.

"Okay, but that's just a coincidence, isn't it?"

They glance sideways at each other. Their smirks have grown into full-on evil grins.

"Cause, I mean, that would just be… ridiculous, wouldn't it? Right?"

Steve crouches down to pick up a hamper that had been sitting by his feet. I even didn't notice it was there.

"I've brought extra buns, and sauces if you want any."

"I'm pretty sure there's a homemade cake in there too," Nat adds nonchalantly as they both walk past him towards the rest of his family. "Made by yours truly."

"Except actually, I made that cake."

"Excuse me, I taste-tested it."

"Indeed, after I mixed it and baked it and decorated it-"

"Taste-testing is a very important part of the cake-making process."

"Exactly, which is why I trusted it to the most reliable person I know."

"I-I'm just thinking way too far into this, right?" I call after them. They continue walking. "Right?"

I'm still standing by the door of the house by the time they reach the table. I watch them as Steve greets each of the kids and Nat has an emotional reunion with Laura. A piece I didn't even realise was missing from my life just slots into place, where I know it'll stay, forever. I suddenly experience a feeling of content, deep within me.

I forget about coincidences, I forget about time travel, I forget about magic space rocks. Right now I'm focusing on what matters. Lunch, with my family. All of my family.

I pick up the mayo jar from where I dropped it, and head towards the lunch table, homebound.

The End

AN: Yes, this is the end of Homebound, however, this isn't the end of Steve and Nat's journey, nor is the end of the story. Next week, I will be posting the follow-up story: 'How to Make a Home: Oneshots from the Rogers Household'. However, if you are aware of my AO3 account (Loquatorious) you can check it out already, along with a story centered around Sam, Bucky and Wanda. I hope to see you there, and if not, see you next week for the continued misadventures of the Soldier and the Spy. Thank you for reading.