ᴀ ʏᴇᴀʀ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ - ᴘᴇʀᴄʏ ᴊᴀᴄᴋꜱᴏɴ x ᴍᴀʀᴠᴇʟ ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱᴏᴠᴇʀ

[II] T W O

When Clint finally harnessed the courage to slip from his room, the daytime was ripe and bustling with human life. Reds and pinks did not litter the sky - no, the sunrise had finally deserted them, and at last, the sun was high in the sky. High noon was fast approaching.

He was tired (God, he was tired) but, Clint could not bear the thought of sleeping now; There was no way in hell he would sleep after taking those mysterious pills. As the mere thought entered his mind, bile rose up inside his throat, and he considered vomiting the medicine back up - perhaps then he would feel just a little at ease.

That was if it wasn't already too late. For all Clint knew, each gulp of air could have been his last.

He had not found the time to hide the dark circles under his eyes, but, goddamnit, let them show. It was a testament, evidence, to what he'd seen that morning.

A last-minute decision meant that Clint took the longer route around - through the automatic doors and over the courtyard. And although it was cold, he still passed a countless number of SHIELD Agents and matching protegees. All of which waved and offered the Avenger a polite Good Morning.

Good Morning? His grip on his bow and quiver tightened. Could they not see it? Could they not feel the twang of inaccuracies shudder through them? There was whispering in the wind, light murmuring in the air, and it made Clint shiver with unease.

Many more Agents smiled at him. He supposed they couldn't feel it - they hadn't seen phantom-Natasha, who, allegedly, didn't exist. Clint had spent a considerable amount of time probing FRIDAY with questions, but her answers far from satisfied him. If it had not been Natasha in his room that morning, then who? The walls surrounding the Avengers compound was impenetrable as far as Clint knew - with surveillance cameras at every turn. If someone unwanted had slithered their way in, the cameras would have exposed them within seconds.

Come to think of it, the entire thing sounded absurd. If even FRIDAY hadn't detected anyone, who would believe Clint's tale? Who would believe a crazed and restless man waffling on about Natasha Romanoff, who had appeared to be her usual self a day before, being a fake? He had no evidence. No affirmations. No witnesses besides himself.

Even Clint himself wouldn't believe such a tall story.

Purely out of habit, Clint found himself wandering towards where he knew the rest of the Avengers would be. He had no choice. He could either ignore what had happened, or have someone stumble upon his rotting corpse in a few hours. Neither possibility looked remotely appealing.

***

Emerging into the private kitchen and dining area, Clint was not surprised to find that the other Avengers were going about their ordinary lives. At least, as close to normality as an Avenger could be.

It was an average Friday morning.

Peter Parker - the youngest of their heroic group - was again on the ceiling. Oblivious to the way he shamelessly demonstrated his Spider abilities, he walked around upside-down, a Science textbook in hand. Occasionally, he'd waltz down the wall itself and onto the normal floor, sometimes to grab something, and then he'd retake his place above them. The shock of it had faded long before, but still, Clint couldn't help but gape.

Thor was the eldest, by a large margin, but his strangely ignorant nature said otherwise. His muscled and powerful outward demeanour was a hoax - beyond it, he experienced the wonders of mortal Earth with the same sense of curiosity and fascination a puppy had.

Pausing in the kitchen doorway, Clint watched in slight amusement as Thor experimented. It was unsettling to watch - Thor attempt to toast an entire sandwich inside a toaster - but Thor was one of those people who would refuse to heed a warning and only stop when he saw the consequences with his own eyes.