Here it is! The much anticipated These Memories! Please enjoy this romp through crazy!

now, if you have NEVER read any of my stories please read the SHIELD AGENT FILE on my profile page, if you HAVE read my stories, then please skip right down to the main storyline!

These Memories Are Not My Own

Prologue

The morning rays passed through the gossamer curtains until its warmth reached the sleeping faces. Eyes, blue as the Antarctic ice, appeared beneath the lashed shades to view the world as if for the first time. The body groaned, sighed, and twisted like a bear unearthed from its den. She lay beside him with her head tucked into his chest. Her fiery hair flowed in long straight locks over his arm she'd used as a pillow. She changed her hair again, he mused.

The room was at the same times familiar and foreign. He'd been used to waking up in strange beds in his long history as a spy. The current difficulty? He did not know exactly how he had come across this particular place. It was well styled. The walls were lilac and white but not overtly feminine. The dressing table, doors, even bed were made from the same cherry oak, one of Clint's favorite colors.

Clint. Clint Barton. He blinked and brought his arm out from under the woman, Natasha. His feet crossed over the edge of the bed until they planted flat on the carpet. For a moment he felt he couldn't remember his own name. It came to him in a whisper, like the shadow of a dream pulling away leaving its memories behind. His eyes crossed the room for the third time taking it all in but remembering very little of it.

The door burst open, but he did not react. Two young boys, perhaps nine, ten years at most, raced each other to the bed. Once at its side, they clambered on in their socks and Captain American pajamas.

"Breakfast, breakfast, breakfast!" The toe-hard one declared. His bouncing roused Natasha.

"It's the first day of school!" the red-head added.

Natasha pushed up on her elbows, her arms extending to the children until they crashed against her chest in perfect pleasure. She kissed the tops of their heads and then shoved them toward Clint. "You let them watch too much Finding Nemo. Breakfast is in the fridge. Dad's making lunch."

Clint blinked at them. One child whooped. The other jumped and grabbed Clint around the neck before both bounding like young goats towards their bedroom.

Natasha leaned toward him. Her left hand extended, caressing his until their matching wedding bands touched. She kissed his neck with ruby lips that needed no lipstick to enhance their color. "I endured parent day, alone, yesterday. You owe me this morning in bed." It was an order and not one that was open to debate. "Clint, are you all right?" Her tone changed.

He stood from the bed, attempting to smooth the shirt he was not wearing. A fourth examination of the room showed nothing more amiss than the peculiar thoughts tugging at him from his imaginings.

He shook his head. "No, nothing. Just a strange dream I guess."

He approached the dresser, opened the first drawer and found his shirt just where he expected it to be. Satisfied, he unfolded it and pulled the shirt on.

"You've been doing that a lot lately." Natasha replied, less concerned. She returned to her wedge shaped space in the mattress with the blankets to her chin and Clint's pillow. a substitute for his body against hers. "Were you thinking of Steve again?"

Clint pushed the drawer shut. On the dresser top were pictures of their family. Aaron, the blond child, stood poised with his baseball bat over his shoulder and a Blue Jays League jersey on. He was number 14 according to the mock baseball card. Beside it was a matching card of the red-haired twin Philip. He was number 15. On the right rested a picture of Natasha dressed in an unflattering white checkered hospital gown. Two squished child faces were wrapped like burritos and placed with one in each of her arms. The frame also held a photo of Clint with one child, Natasha the other and Tony Stark reclining at the end of the hospital bed as the three smiled into the camera.

Clint knew he had neglected Natasha's question. "Steve?" he asked, still examining his life's work in the photos on the bureau.

"That's what it was yesterday." Natasha replied sleepily. "It's ok to miss him, Clint. We know he wanted to go home. Back where he came from. I bet he finally got that dance he promised his girl too."

The last photo was one of the Avengers, standing in a ring around someone's birthday cake. Tony was wearing two party hats, Clint had three. Natasha had icing on her finger while attempting to insert it in Pepper's ear. Bruce was red-faced as he laughed, cake covered the end of his nose. A candle had somehow ignited Steve's arm and Thor's cheeks were puffed up as he attempted to blow out Steve's shirt. Where had Steve gone, Clint wondered. For some reason he couldn't quite remember.

"Dad! The bus will be here any minute!"

Clint removed himself from the memories on the dresser and leaned over the bed to his wife. He planted a kiss along her jaw line, producing a smile in return. He slipped out of the room and pulled the door shut behind himself. There was a single broad hallway that led to the boys' room with a bathroom opposite of them, and an empty guestroom coming last on the right. The hallway then spilled into the common family room with the kitchen wrapped around to the left.

Aaron and Philip were sitting on their stools, waiting patiently with their tin lunch box lids thrown open. The little ricotta quiches Clint had manufactured for breakfast were half devoured already by the bottomless pit boys.

"I want peanut butter." Aaron said.

"I want jelly." Philip said.

"You will both get both." Clint said. He extracted the bread from the box beside the microwave and inspected the jelly choice on the refrigerator door.

"Grape or strawberry?"

"Grape."

"Strawberry."

Clint nodded. He extracted both, retrieved a knife from the island drawer, and rooted for the peanut butter in the cabinet by his feet. Luckily, there was only the choice of creamy and he was able to avoid inquiring their preferences over chunky. As he set to creating the perfect blend of peanut to jelly ratio he asked, "Do you have everything for school?"

"Mom checked last night." Philip said.

"Good." Clint said. He wasn't sure what he would find missing if he checked for himself, so he was satisfied Natasha had taken the opportunity away from him. "Do you know where the bus stop is?"

"Right outside the driveway." Aaron said. "I want the strawberry one, dad."

Clint switched sandwiches. He left the appropriate strawberry in Aaron's Iron Man lunch pail while dropping the grape into the Thor-donned box of Philip.

"Snacks?" Clint asked.

"Bacon?"

"I want candy."

"Candy covered bacon?"

Clint grinned. "No to all of those." He rechecked the food stock of the fridge and came up with two individual packs of applesauce, yogurt, and a pair of apples. Aaron elected for the banana he found beside the sink and a yogurt cup. Phil took yogurt and applesauce.

"Is Uncle Tony coming over today?" Aaron asked. Philip clapped excitedly.

Clint remembered seeing the calendar held up by magnets on the stainless steel fridge. He consulted the day. First day of school was highlighted and circled twice. Natasha's doing most likely. Beneath that was Clint's work schedule. He was due in at the shooting range by eight. That was still two hours away. Natasha's ballet school opened half an hour later. Written, in Tony's handwriting beneath these schedule notes, were the words "Get ready for me baby".

"According to your Uncle Tony, he is. I'll call and double check with Pepper though. Water bottles?" Clint asked.

Both boys patted the sides of their light-up Avengers back packs.

The windows briefly flashed with the alternating lights of a yellow school bus. The boys whooped in excitement, grabbed their lunches and rushed the front door. Clint followed them out, catching the screen door before it slapped noisily against the house siding. Aaron and Philip ran for the school bus as the mechanical limbed door pushed open. The driver waved out to Clint.

"Good morning, Mr. Hawkeye!" the driver said.

Clint waved. "Good morning."

"I'll get 'em back by three sharp, sir!"

Clint nodded and smiled. From their seats at the back of the bus, Aaron and Philip frantically flapped their arms toward their father. Clint returned their earnestness as the mechanical door pulled shut with a creek of old spring hinges. The flashing stop sign tucked against the side of the bus and the big engine roared into gear.

A few moments later, the first fall bus for Roosevelt Public School, New Jersey pulled away into the rest of the neighborhood. Standing just outside his door step, Clint looked over toward his close neighbors. The elderly man, the mail box read Rivendell, was easing his walker toward the newspaper left at the end of his drive way. Watching him go, Clint could tell already it would take the man the better part of five days to get there and back to his porch to enjoy it. Abandoning his front door, Clint eased the screen close behind himself and headed across Natasha's hedge of pink rose bushes to Mr. Rivendell's.

"Morning, Mr. Rivendell." Clint said by way of greeting.

The elderly man looked over and smiled. He hadn't taken the time to put his teeth in yet. "Ah, the super man. Come to save this old man from himself?"

"Not unless you need me to." Clint replied. He picked up the newspaper from the drive and walked it to Mr. Rivendell. There was a small basket on the front of his walker so Clint placed the paper in it. "Maybe I can talk to the delivery guy. Have him drop this a little closer to your door."

Mr. Rivendell laughed with his wide gummy mouth. "If you did that, I wouldn't have the excuse to get away from my nagging wife."

Clint chuckled. At Mr. Rivendell's assurance that he could conquer the return trip to his own door, Clint retreated back to his side of the property line. He took a final look at the coming day and disappeared inside, softly closing the screen door behind. He padded through the empty anteroom to the kitchen. After grabbing a coffee pod from the iron wire tree, he placed it into the Keurig to brew. With Natasha's and his cups filled with fresh java, he headed back into their bedroom. Natasha was still in her chosen position with Clint's pillow crushed in her arms. He set her coffee down to cool and climbed back in beside her with his. He prepped the first sip with a few blows of cold air from his lips and tested the heat. Ten burned taste buds later he set his own cup to the side to cool off as well.

"Errrrmmmmm" Natasha moaned into his side. "I don't wanna start today."

Clint smiled, shifting until his head pressed beside her face. "Let's just play hooky then." He said.

"I would love to do that." Natasha replied. "But the final sequence for Swan Lake's choreography is due this Friday and Beth is losing her mind."

"Swan Lake?"

Natasha nodded her chin beneath his. "It's a dance studio. We're always doing Swan Lake. I would stab someone for a chance to turn Anastasia into a ballet. That critic from Manhattan would cut his own throat to get near it."

"So violent this morning." Clint chuckled.

"It's called killer withdraw." Natasha released his pillow and stared up at him. "Did you make me coffee?"

"It's still hot."

"Thank you." She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. It was supposed to be a quick peck on her way to the shower but that was always how their morning started. A quick kiss became a passionate kiss. A passionate kiss led to his hands in her hair and hers at his waist. Clint took her against him as his eyes drifted closed to enjoy their embrace. He couldn't imagine a happier time in his life. It was right. It was beautiful and it was his.

Lost in her embrace, his mind went slightly grey. He could blame it on the passion, the excitement, the scent of his woman against him. He couldn't imagine the truth; that, just a reality away, someone in a long white coat worked around him, drawing the next syringe to feed into his veins.

So, return of the cliff hangers! I want reviews, so-go!