A/N: Well, hello, lovelies. How are you?

Welcome to the chapter, strap in and read the trigger warnings in the notes at the end!

Love you, lots. We'll talk after, eh?

Bobbi left it to Hunter to call her parents and let them know Jemma was okay. 'Okay' was maybe a stretch, but Hunter had mentioned he'd promised to give her dad a call when he got home, and she wanted to speak to Jemma alone for a few minutes. Plus, she and Hunter had talked again. They were in agreement. Jem needed help that neither one of them were sufficiently equipped to provide, and her parents always spoke highly of Doctor Garner. Hunter was going to ask about getting Jemma an appointment with him.

The little girl's bedroom door was shut when Bobbi reached the top of the stairs, though not clicked closed, and she only had to put a little gentle pressure on the thing for it to open. Bobbi poked her head inside.

"It's polite to knock before entering someone's bedroom." Jemma's voice was muffled.

For a second, Bobbi couldn't identify where the voice had come from, but then she spotted the lump in the corner of Jemma's bed, hidden under pillows and blankets, pressed against the wall.

"I'm sorry." Bobbi said. She knocked twice on the door. "Can I come in?"

"No." Jemma said, poking her head out from under the duvet. "I'd prefer it if you just left me alone."

"Well, that's not going to happen." Bobbi stepped inside of her room. "I respect your privacy, Jemma, but you're nine, and I'm worried about you, so I'm coming in." She sat down on the ground by the hole in the wall. "I gotta call Clint to get this fixed." She muttered.

Jemma, although now somewhat uncovered by her bedclothes, still remained curled up in her bed, and refused to further acknowledge Bobbi. She had her special blanket woven through her fingers and tucked under her chin. The corner of it looked damp.

"Have you been sucking on that, Jem?" Bobbi asked quietly, and while she didn't actually refer to what she suspected Jemma has been sucking on, the little girl pulled the blanket closer and flushed.

"No." Jemma said, hiding the wet edge of the blanket. "That would be disgusting. A playground for germs."

"I don't think it's disgusting." Bobbi said. "I used to chew my sleeves when I was nervous." She looked down at the frayed edges of the jacket she had on. "Sometimes I still do it. Habit."

"Did you know," Jemma said quietly, "if you manage not to do something for twenty-one days straight, then you can break a habit."

"I didn't know that."

"I'm not sure how true it is. I haven't tested the theory."

The floor was uncomfortable, and the skirting board pressed into Bobbi's spine painfully, but she remained in place, watching Jemma as the little girl slowly sat up in bed. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair looked damp, her forehead clammy, but she was gorgeous as ever.

"Jem?" Bobbi asked.

Jemma turned to her, bringing the blanket up to rub under her nose. "Yes?"

"Skye's okay."

"She got hurt." Jemma sighed. "It was my fault she got hurt."

"I don't believe that's true."

Jemma glared at her, an expression that seemed foreign to the child's usually angelic face. "You don't know. You weren't there."

"Then tell me what happened."

"Two boys were being mean to me." Jem said. She clasped her hands together. "Brock and Carl. They're always mean."

"Why didn't you tell me? Tell Hunter?"

Jemma shrugged. "They're mean. They're just stupid boys being bullies. I didn't want to bother anyone with something so trivial."

"Not trivial." Bobbi said firmly. Her fingertips dug into the bedroom carpet. It was the same beige it had been when they had first moved in. Bobbi thought Jemma might have preferred something more colourful but she hadn't expressed any opinion on the matter.

"I've just been ignoring them." Jem said. She rubbed at her cheek.

"For how long?"

The little girl blinked twice. "A few weeks?" She tilted her head to one side. "Usually the other children just ignore me."

Something tugged in Bobbi's chest. "They ignore you?"

"Yes." Jemma said rather pleasantly. "And that suits me just fine."

"So," Bobbi said quietly, "at school, you just…stay by yourself?"

"I suppose so." Jem smiled. "I rather like it. There's nothing wrong with enjoying your own company."

"No. There's not." Bobbi said. But it should be a choice, not a last resort, she thought.

Jemma sat up straighter on her bed, crossing her legs and keeping her blanket bundled in her lap. "When the boys are being mean, I try to just ignore them." She sighed. "But Skye doesn't exactly work that way." She frowned. "Not that I'm saying it was in any way Skye's fault. She was defending me. She was just being brave. She's so brave."

Bobbi pushed herself up off the ground. "You're brave, too."

Jemma looked down. "I do wish you wouldn't lie to me."

"I'm not lying."

"Then perhaps you're judgement is skewed due to your personal feelings for me." Jem said with a shrug. "Because I am anything but brave. I am not the brave one."

When Bobbi sat down beside Jemma, the little girl didn't move away. Bobbi pulled her legs up and mirrored Jemma's position. "You know," she said quietly to Jemma, putting a hand on her knee, "I know how it feels to not be the 'brave one'."

Jem's brow furrowed. "I'm sorry?"

Bobbi smiled. "I think," she said, "that Skye is to you, what Nat is to me."

Jemma tilted her head, hair falling over one shoulder. "I'm not sure that I understand."

Bobbi leaned back. "Natasha is my baby sister." She smiled. "She's always been smaller than me, literally, and I've always felt a need to protect her, but…" She trailed off, eyes moving to the ceiling as her mind drifted to the past. "Natasha's always been the brave one. I've not always been able to protect her."

It sometimes amazed Bobbi just how intelligent Jemma actually was. Seeing her grades at school or having proof of her IQ was one thing, but it was Jem's emotional maturity that tended to surprise her. Jemma threaded her fingers through Bobbi's and squeezed gently, shifting closer to her on the bed.

"It's okay." Jemma said. She smiled up at Bobbi when the women looked to her. "It's alright."

Bobbi nodded. Her throat felt tight and her cheeks felt too hot.

"I'm sure you are a very good big sister." Jemma said. "Skye certainly seems to think so."

"Skye doesn't know the half of it." Bobbi muttered under her breath.

At Jemma's questioning gaze, Bobbi cleared her throat.

"Skye wasn't with us, when I was a bad big sister." Her eyes pricked and she frowned. "Natasha needed my help, and I was too much of a coward to give it to her."

"What happened?"

Bobbi couldn't tell her. Jemma was smart, but she was still just a kid and there was no way in hell that Bobbi was going to tell her such a horrific story. But Jemma was looking up at her questioningly, and Bobbi couldn't lie to her either. "Long story, short," she said, "someone hurt Natasha. Hurt her pretty bad."

"Who?"

"It doesn't matter." Bobbi said quickly. "Just that she got hurt, and I knew she was being hurt, but instead of stepping in myself and helping Natasha, I got scared." She swallowed. "I left my little sister with him, and I went and called Clint. Clint took care of it. But-," Bobbi swiped at her eyes, "he had hurt her enough by then. I could have stopped it sooner."

"But you still helped." Jemma said encouragingly. The little girl put her hands on Bobbi's shoulders. "You told someone who could help. That's brave."

It wasn't easy to think about that day, almost three years ago now, when Bobbi had purely by accident come across Barney Barton abusing her little sister. Had gone to the garage looking for Natasha, but expecting to find her making out with Clint away from the prying eyes of her parents. There had been something going on, on that day. Bobbi had assumed it was a lovers' secret meeting, not the horrific scene that had confronted her.

She had seen him hit her, force himself on her, shout in her face. Had seen Natasha spit in his face, bite his fingers, claw at his face. Bobbi could have stormed in, then, could have stopped it. But she hadn't.

She had been too scared to do anything other than run in the opposite direction.

She had called Clint. It had taken three tries until he picked up and she frantically told him what his brother was doing.

Clint had arrived less than five minutes later and almost killed his brother. Bobbi had stayed outside and listened to the screaming and the thump as one of the three people in the garage had been thrown against the wall. She had flagged the police down and pointed them in the right direction.

But she hadn't been brave. Not really.

"You helped." Jemma said again.

"I know I did." Bobbi said truthfully. Maybe it had taken three years, and maybe she did still wake from crippling nightmares and a guilt that tore at her insides, but she could now accept it. "I called for Clint. I wasn't traditionally brave, but I helped."

"And that's admirable." Jem said.

Bobbi smiled, took one of Jemma's hands and kissed her knuckles. "As are you, darling."

Jemma shook her head. "I didn't do anything to help. Skye fought them off, very much tooth and nail. That's admirable."

"You've been very brave in your life, though." Bobbi said. She pulled Jemma into a hug, and the little girl went pliantly. "I think you're very brave for what you went through with your parents."

Jemma leaned her cheek against Bobbi's shoulder. "They're not my parents anymore."

Bobbi kissed her. "No, darling, they're not."

…

Seeing Clint and Nat like that, had been horrendous. He hadn't helped in the slightest, leaving Melinda to deal with their injuries and occupying himself with making them all some dinner, but it was that or freak out. No, the worst thing he could so was to freak out.

So Phil kept busy.

He made dinner, he washed the dishes, he cleaned the kitchen, and the living room, and the playroom. It was work menial enough to occupy his thoughts and keep his hands busy without allowing the opportunity to fall into a crippling panic. The downstairs hadn't been so clean since Barney Barton's trial.

Phil looked around the living room, eyes landing on the freshly polished coffee table. The whole situation was frighteningly reminiscent of three years ago, and the only thing holding Phil back from acting on his on-going hatred of Clint's older brother, was the knowledge that the man was locked up in a cell.

"Pull it together." He told his reflection in the table. "The kids need you. Mel needs you. Skye needs…" Phil trailed off, glancing around the room and noting the distinct lack of his youngest daughter.

He tried to remember her leaving. She had been eating at the table, and then…he couldn't think. His brain was foggy.

She wasn't downstairs, but it didn't take long to locate her. Phil found her sitting outside Natasha and Clint's bedroom, legs pulled up to her chest, cheek pressed one knee. Skye's eyes glanced up at him as he approached and she smiled, little face lighting up.

"Daddy." She said.

He sat down by her. "What are you doing down here, Skye?"

She sat up straight. "I'm keeping guard." She said seriously. "Protecting them." The way she said it was with such sincerity, that it would have been funny, if it hadn't been so tragically desperate.

"I want to keep them safe." Skye said.

"Me, too." Phil said. "But it's not your job to protect them."

Skye frowned. "Then whose job is it?"

Phil touched her cheek. "I think it might be mine."

"Oh." The little girl tipped her head back against the door with a dull thud.

"I guess I'm not doing a very good job, am I?"

Skye didn't say anything.

"Come on." Phil said, pushing past the sudden sickness in his stomach. "Let's go to your room."

"I can't leave." Skye said. "They're still asleep."

Phil sighed. It wasn't fair that Skye felt it her duty to protect her older siblings. It wasn't fair that his eight-year-old daughter had decided to take on such a task. He touched her hair, careful to avoid the bump on her temple. It wasn't too bad, but the top of the bump was purpler than it had been just a couple of hours before, and Phil was sure it must have been sore.

"Daddy?" Skye said, leaning against his arm.

"Mm?" He kissed the top of her head.

Skye sniffled and looked down into her lap. "Daddy, my hands hurt." She said, a little catch in her throat. "They're hurting lots."

Phil stood. He ignored Skye's protests that she needed to stay by Nat's door, and picked her up. Protesting or not, Skye was only little, and it didn't take much to lift her. She didn't wrap her arms around him, but one hand gently lay on Phil's chest, the other resting on his forearm. Skye's head went to his shoulder.

"Come on." He mumbled against her hair. "Everyone's napping. Why don't we have a little rest, too, huh?"

Tears dripped steadily down Skye's cheeks and she wiped them against his shirt. "Daddy." She sniffed, and brought her thumb up to her mouth. Phil wasn't going to stop her sucking it, but Skye didn't bother anyway. Instead she pressed her face into the side of his neck and let him rub her back.

Phil lay on top of the covers of Skye's bed, the little girl still in his arms. She was still crying, but almost silently, exhaustion apparently taking over as her eyelids fluttered. Phil wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumb.

"Oh, baby." He said. "Rough day, huh?"

Skye looked up at him, and nodded.

"It's going to be alright." He assured her.

"It is?"

"Yeah." He said with what he hoped was confidence, and tried not to think about his other kids in the next room over, bruised and bloody from a confrontation he could do nothing about. "Of course."

Skye cuddled close, folding her little fingers into the soft fabric of his shirt.

"How are your hands, Skye?" He asked. "They hurt bad?"

She sighed heavily, a long and drawn out stuttered breath. "S'okay. Stings."

He wished he could take her pain away, but her little hands were ravaged with scrapes and beyond the dressings that were already present, there really wasn't much he could do but let them heal. Phil kissed her palms.

Skye smiled. "There." She said, cheek still pressed against his chest. "You kissed 'em better, Daddy."

The optimism and love of an eight-year-old little girl was enough to break his heart. "I love you." He told her. "I love you so, so much, Skye."

She blinked at him. "Even though I was bad."

"Even though you made a choice you maybe shouldn't have." He clarified. "I'll always love you. I love you unconditionally."

"What does that mean?"

Phil smiled and kissed her nose. Skye crinkled it adorably and he did it again.

"It means," He said, "that no matter what you do, no matter what you say, or feel, or think, I promise to love you forever and ever."

Skye was quiet for a moment, eyes drifting away from his. "That's a very big promise." She said.

"Yes, it is." Phil said. He touched her chin and she looked up at him. "But it's a promise that I will always keep."

"You'll love me," Skye swallowed, "no matter what?"

"Yes." Phil said. "Do you believe me?"

There was a moment where Skye closed her eyes, and her whole body seemed to sag against him, a solid dead weight across his chest as every ounce of tension seeped away from her tiny muscles. She didn't move to speak, eyes remaining closed.

"I think," She said, a whisper of words against his neck, "that I do believe you."

Phil could have cried. Did cry. Kissed her hair and let a tear track a line from his eye, down into the crease of his neck. It was unexplainable. Something changed. Something was different.

"Skye."

"Daddy."

…

Natasha had gone looking for Clint.

He had told her to stay home, to let him handle it. It was his brother after all, he said.

But Clint was hers and that made Barney Barton her problem, too.

Weeks ago, when Barney had dragged Clint up to the garage and roughed him up a little (nothing too horrific, just a scrape here, and a bruise there), it had been a case of 'you threaten Clint, you threaten me', for Natasha. She had been all ready to go after the man then, but Clint had stopped her. Had told her Barney was all bark, and only a little bite. That once he realised that trying to blackmail both of them into giving him money wasn't going to work, he would back off. Go somewhere else for his cash.

Nat had been worried that Barney was going to tell, but she saw the way he looked at Clint. The way he still called him 'kid'. Barney wouldn't squeal on them. He loved his brother too much to have him sent to prison. Even if he did need fast cash to pay back some pissed off dealers.

But then it had changed.

Barney decided that if they didn't have any money for him, then he would have something else. He was going mad, becoming bitter, becoming cruel and nasty. Barney wasn't looking for a better life, anymore. He was looking for something that wasn't there, and dedicated to hurting as many people as he could along the way.

Clint was still his little brother. He had a whisper of fondness for him.

Natasha…

Barney liked Natasha.

When Barney texted Clint, told him he wanted Nat for himself, Clint had gone. Told Nat to stay in the house, and to go to Bobbi's room. Keep the doors locked, stay safe.

He had kissed her, and promised to come home soon.

But then it had been three and a half hours, and Clint wasn't answering his phone. Natasha had to find him. There was only so much that Barney's nostalgia for his brother could do. Barney Barton wasn't the petty criminal he used to be. He was a madman.

Bobbi hadn't known what was going on, just that something was up. Natasha had to sneak out of the house, had taken her sister's car and driven to the first place she thought Clint and Barney might be.

Clint wasn't there. Barney glanced in her direction as she entered the practically derelict garage.

"He was here." Barney said, looking back down at something on the desk at the back. He had his back to her and she couldn't see what it was. "Told him I was gonna make a deal with Trickshot." He huffed a laugh. "Kid believed me. Went to see 'im before I could to stop the 'deal'. Trying to keep me out of trouble." Barney looked at Nat over his shoulder. His lip was bloody and swollen. "Clipped me first, though." He indicated the lip. "For disrespecting you."

Barney looked her up and down and licked his bloody lips. "Told him it was a joke." He leered at her. "Believed that, too."

"Where is he?" Natasha asked, slightly disgusted at the hesitancy in her voice. Barney scared her.

Barney shrugged. "Probably getting' his ass whooped by Trickshot. Teach 'im a lesson."

He turned from the desk and took a couple of steps towards Natasha, grinning. "Want to see something as beautiful as yourself, Svetlana?"

She stepped back.

"Don't be shy, Commie." He smiled. "Look at this sexy lady." Barney pulled the gun from behind his back, and Natasha tried her best not to flinch. "You seen one of these before?"

It was a semi-automatic pistol. One she was sure Barney actually had no idea how to handle. Natasha had grown up in the drug circle of a master dealer. She knew guns. Barney Barton did not.

He waved it too close to her face, holding it wrong and grinning as he passed it from hand to hand. "Present from a kid who owed me some."

"Why?" Nat said.

Barney looked offended. "To protect myself. It's my right." He gritted his teeth and shoved the barrel of it into her cheek. "Reminds people who's boss."

The pressure of the gun pushed the inside of Natasha's cheek against her teeth. Barney put his hand on the other side of her face to stop her from pulling away.

"What do you think, Nikita?"

"You're hurting me." She gasped.

Barney stepped closer, relaxed his pressure on her cheek and pressed his lips to her ear. His breath was hot and she wanted to throw up. "Good." He whispered.

"Get off." Natasha said. She pushed him. "Get away."

"Ha!" Barney laughed and grabbed her hair at the root. The barrel left her cheek and instead dug painfully into her sternum. "Don't tell me what to do."

"Get off."

"I'm the boss." Barney kissed her cheek and Natasha head-butted him.

She was scared. Barney stumbled back, but his grip on her remained. She was trapped.

"You want me." He licked her jaw.

Nat gagged.

"You gonna try to get away, Natalia?" Barney turned her, pressing his front against her back. He ran the gun down her chest and between her legs. "Go on, try."

She kicked and bit and clawed. Knocked the gun to the ground. But Barney was stronger than her. Pinned her over the desk as he rutted against her backside. He slid a hand down the back of her jeans, jagged fingernails catching at her skin.

Barney turned her around until she faced him. He had ripped her shirt, groped at her breasts too hard. He kept trying to undo her jeans, but Natasha clawed at his hands. He screamed in her face.

"You fucking little whore!" He yanked her hair. "You think you're too good for a fuck? Huh?" Barney gripped her chin in his hand. "Well, you're not."

Natasha bit him.

He slapped her face.

She spat in his.

It went on for too long. Barney seemed only to get more determined, forcing his hand down the front of her jeans and pressing the fingers of his other hand against her throat. She was exhausted. She couldn't fight. She was crying.

"Please". Natasha hated herself for begging. "Please, stop."

And then Clint was there, and Barney was being thrown against the wall. He was on the ground. Clint was kicking him in the stomach, in the chest, in the head. Kicking him over and over.

Natasha fell to the ground.

"You're disgusting." Clint screamed at him. "She's. Six. Teen." He punctuated each syllable with a kick. "You fucker!"

The police dragged Clint off him. Someone helped Nat up. Bobbi was there. She was crying. Clint was in a police car. Barney was on the ground.

She had thought he was dead. She was happy.

And then he got up. Stumbled away with a police officer on each side of him. He smiled when he passed her.

"I'll make ya scream for me one day, Natalia." He slurred, and an officer elbowed him in the face.

Natasha had wanted Clint. Had cried for him. Was crying for him.

Clint. Where was he?

Clint. She needed him.

Clint?

Clint.

Clint!

"Clint!"

"Nat!"

Natasha gasped as she awoke, sitting up in bed and coughing as she breathed.

"It's okay." Clint said, pulling her close. "S'okay. I'm here. You're safe."

She was soaked in sweat. Shivering.

"It's okay." Clint told her. "It was just a dream."

She shook her head as she clung to his shirt.

"No." She choked out. "It was a memory."

…

Hunter let Bobbi have her time with Jemma. Whatever his wife had said to their little girl, it had seemed to work, because eventually, Jemma came out of her bedroom, and although she remained unusually clingy to Bobbi, she seemed less upset.

She let Bobbi make her some juice, and nibbled on the biscuits that Hunter set out on a saucer for her. Hunter brushed her hair as she sat at the kitchen table with her juice, Bobbi sitting by her side.

"What do you fancy, then?" He asked, running the brush through her hair. After all the commotion of the fight, and the crying, and being holed up in her bed, Jem's hair had needed a little bit of TLC, and to be able to brush and style it was the ice-breaker Lance needed to get the conversation he wanted to have rolling.

"I don't mind." Jemma said, sipping her juice. "You pick."

He split the hair into two sections, curving the comb and making her parting into a zig-zag, in the same way he had used to do with Bobbi when they were dating and she let him play with her hair. Lance began plaiting the hair in French braids.

"I spoke to Phil before." He said.

Bobbi looked up at him a little questioningly, and he nodded. She lifted her chin in acknowledgement.

"I asked him about maybe you seeing Andrew, Jemma?" He tried to keep the suggestion light and casual.

Jem had a biscuit half way to her mouth. She paused, and put it back down onto the plate. "Oh." She said.

Bobbi put a hand on her arm and Hunter started the second plait.

"What do you think about having a few sessions with Andrew?" Bobbi asked.

Jemma shrugged. "I think it's unnecessary."

"Why's that?" Bobbi said.

"Going to see a psychologist?" Jem huffed a little. "Putting children in therapy is what people do to kids who have been traumatised by an event."

"To help them." Hunter clarified.

"Right." Jemma said. "Well, I don't need help."

Hunter sighed as he tied off the plait with a purple hair bobble. He kneeled by Jemma's side and she regarded him warily.

"I just think," He said, "that Andrew could really help you. You've been through so much, darlin'."

"I'm perfectly capable of helping myself, thank you very much."

"Jemma…" Hunter sighed. "Please."

The little girl frowned at him.

"Please," Lance took her hand, "just try it? For me?"

He hadn't wanted to guilt her into doing something she didn't' want to, but Hunter truly believed he was doing right by his little girl. She had been through so much, and she was reluctant to really speak her feelings to either he or Bobbi. She just needed someone to talk to.

"Okay." Jemma sighed. "I'll go."

"Thank you." Hunter smiled. He kissed her forehead. "I got Doctor Garner's phone number from Phil and spoke to him before. He was happy to see you today."

"Today?" Jemma said incredulously and even Bobbi look surprised.

"He made some time for you." Hunter said. "He's looking forward to meeting you."

Jemma didn't say anything to that, just went back to her juice. Bobbi smiled at him.

She kissed the top of Jem's head, and left the kitchen, giving Hunter a passing look her knew to be 'follow me'. He did, closing the door after himself.

He sighed and stepped into Bobbi's arms.

"You're doing the right thing." She said, hugging him. "She needs help."

"Yeah."

"I'm so proud of you." Bobbi said.

Hunter pulled away slightly. "Why?"

She smirked. "Because you're doing right by your daughter, even though what she needs isn't necessarily what she wants." Bob kissed his cheek. "You're growing up, teacup. Becoming a real father."

He felt his cheeks flush. "Yeah, well," he ducked his head and nuzzled at Bobbi's neck to hide his blush, "couldn't have done it without you, wifey."

She petted the back of his neck. "Call me 'wifey' again an I'll punch you."

"Noted, Bobo."

He knew without being able to see it that she was rolling her eyes. Hunter pressed a kiss to her clavicle and squeezed her.

"I love you. Just…" He sighed, "just…don't forget that, will you? I love you."

She pressed her nose into his cheek. "I won't forget. I love you, too. Don't forget."

"I won't."

…

Andrew's office was in a building that served as a place of working residence for fifteen different psych specialists. Hunter wasn't particularly well-versed on the difference between them all. Frankly, clinical psychologist, psychotherapist, psychiatrist; they all kind of sounded the same to him, but he trusted Phil and Melinda's judgment, and he trusted that Andrew Garner was the right choice for Jemma based on their analysis of him.

The waiting room for Doctor Garner and some of the other docs, was in the upstairs of the building, and fairly warm and welcoming for such a clinical place. There were couches, or single chairs to choose to sit in, and drink-making facilities in one corner. The two receptionists greeted the three of them kindly on entrance, logged Jemma into the system, and informed all three that Doctor Garner would be out in a few minutes to take Jem's appointment.

Bobbi took Jemma's hand and sat with her by a bookcase filled with dog-eared, and worn paperbacks that Hunter suspected were for show more than anything else, given that the other two patients in the room waiting for their own therapists, were engrossed in their smartphones. Jemma sat on the chair closest to the bookcase, and began moving her finger along the titles, pausing every now and then to remove a book and inspect the cover and the blurb, offering it to Bobbi for inspection if it appeared to be of interest.

Hunter, for his part, felt weirdly nervous and jumpy. He was restless, unable to sit still, so he took the opportunity to feign casualness and pretend to read the various notices on one of the boards.

"Jemma Simmons?"

Hunter looked up at the voice, seeing a tall man stood at the opening to a hallway at the other end of the waiting room. Jemma raised her hand and stood from her chair.

"That's me." She said to the man.

He smiled kindly and took a step towards her. "Wonderful to meet you Jemma." He said. "I'm Doctor Andrew Garner. I've been expecting you."

Jemma nodded.

"Can I ask who accompanied you here, today?" Garner asked.

Jemma had a hand in Bobbi's and she raised their joined hands in his direction, pointing at Hunter with her other.

"Wonderful." Doctor Garner said. "If you'd all like to follow me?" He gestured for them to follow, leading all three into his office, and closing the door after Hunter. "Please," he said, "take a seat."

The room offered either an armchair, a couch, or two chairs around a small desk in the corner. Hunter took his cue from Jemma, and sat next to her on the couch. Bobbi sat on the little girl's other side.

"Well, Jemma," Doctor Garner said, sitting in the armchair, "would you like to introduce me to your acquaintances?"

Hunter thought that was an odd choice of words, but Jem apparently didn't see any peculiarity in it, or at east not enough to refuse an answer. She looked over at Hunter first, giving him a small smile.

"This is Lance Hunter." She said, turning back to Andrew. "But most people call him 'Hunter."

"Nice to meet you, Lance Hunter." Garner said.

"Sometimes," Jemma continued, "Bobbi calls him 'Teacup."

Lance groaned. "The Doctor doesn't need to know that, Jem."

She smiled. "Sorry." Jemma looked at Bobbi. "This is Bobbi Morse. Well, Bobbi Morse Coulson-Hunter. Her name isn't really 'Bobbi', but I won't say what it really is because she doesn't like it."

"I see." Doctor Garner flexed his fingers in his lap. "It is nice to see you again, Bobbi Morse Coulson-Hunter."

"And you, Doctor." Bobbi said.

Hunter had almost forgot that Garner had been Nat's therapist. It made sense that Bobbi would have seen him on occasion.

"You seem to have gained a name in the years since our last meeting." He smiled. "Congratulations."

She blushed. "The semantics are still being worked out." She said, glancing fondly in Hunter's direction. Marriage has giving me a lot of names."

Garner chuckled. "You don't want to be Lance Hunter-Morse?"

Hunter smiled. "I'm considering it."

Doctor Garner leaned slightly forward in his seat, speaking only to Jemma. "We'll be talking to each other today for forty minutes, Jemma. Now we can do that a couple of ways."

Jemma nodded her understanding. "Okay."

"So," he said, "we can either continue like we are now, with Lance and Bobbi in here with us, or," he paused, "we can have a conversation together, and they can wait outside."

Hunter opened his mouth to inform the Doctor that Jemma would feel more comfortable if he and Bobbi remained with her in the room for her session, when Jemma herself cut him off.

"I'd like them to leave, please."

Bobbi caught his eye over the top of Jemma's head, and the expression of hurt confusion was one Hunter was sure he was mirroring.

"Are you sure?" Doctor Garner asked.

"Yes." Jemma said confidently.

Doctor Garner spoke a little to him and Bobbi as they left, but Hunter didn't listen. He let himself be led into the waiting room again, this time sitting down in the chair by the bookcase. Bobbi dropped down beside him.

"I'm trying not to take it personally." She said in a low voice, mindful of the other patrons in the room.

Hunter gaped at her. "She just kicked us out."

"Yeah." Bobbi said, tugging her sleeves over her knuckles. "Yeah."

"Oh my God." Lance said. "She hates us. She hates me."

Bobbi rolled her eyes. "She does not." His wife took his hand and squeezed. "Get a grip, Hunter. I think she just needs some time to talk to someone outside of this whole thing."

He let Bobbi ramble on and soothe him into a state of calm anticipation, rather than heart-wrenching anxiety. She held his hand, and kissed his cheek, and eventually her speaking became a conversation in which he participated, and they began talking about things other than the fact that Jemma had not wanted them to be a part of her very first therapy session.

"Is nine too young to need a therapist?" Hunter asked.

Bobbi screwed her face up in thought. It was adorable. "No." She decided. "Not if she needs it."

"Mm." Hunter hummed. "I suppose it's just something I can't exactly relate to." He sighed. "When I was nine, I was having the time of my life." He chuckled. "God, it was great being nine."

Bobbi smiled. "I bet you were a little shit."

He grinned so widely that his cheeks began to ache. "Oh, you have no idea. I was bloody adorable, and it's easy to get away with murder when you look like I did."

"I've seen pictures."

"So you know how cute I was?"

She kissed him. "Still cute."

"Oh yeah?" He dropped his voice. "You trying to seduce me in a waiting room?"

Bobbi smirked at him, stretching back in her seat and letting her shirt ride up enough to show off a smooth section of her stomach. "Wouldn't be the first time."

He swallowed. "No, it would not."

Bobbi pulled her shirt down over her belly. "Do you think we would have been friends when we were nine?"

Hunter shook his head. "Not a chance."

She frowned. "Why?"

"Because I was a nine year old little lad from the rough end of South London, which is saying something." He nodded at her. "And you were a pretty little blonde thing with a boarding school education and a bright future." Hunter smiled. "We were in different worlds, then. Plus, I genuinely thought girls were disgusting when I was nine."

Bobbi cocked an eyebrow. "Well, that changed at some point."

"Yeah." He smiled fondly. "But then when I was twelve I had a wet dream about the Cheeky Girls, and I never looked back."

"Who?"

He blinked away memories of the twins in a music video that had been the catalyst for young Lance's sexual awakening. "Doesn't matter."

"Anyway," Bobbi went on, "I know I was at boarding school when I was nine, but I wasn't exactly out of your league. I wasn't high-class."

"But you paid for school." Hunter argued. "Jesus, when I was nine, for Christmas, I got a packet of Smarties and a Match of the Day annual from the year before and I over the bloody moon."

Bobbi cocked her head to the side. "I didn't go home for Christmas when I was at school." She said quietly. "My aunt used to send me a card and some candy, but I still didn't get much."

Hunter wrapped an arm around her shoulders guiltily. "Sorry, love." He kissed her temple. "I didn't mean to make this a 'who had the shittiest childhood competition'." He sighed. "Christ knows we both had enough going on to get medals."

"Mm." She agreed and cuddled into his side. "Well, you live and learn. At least we know how not to parent."

"You're not wrong there."

They sat quiet for a few moments, Bobbi's head on Hunter's shoulder, and his nose in her hair.

"What was it like?" He asked eventually.

She lifted her head. "What was what like?"

"Boarding school." He clarified. "I always wanted to go to boarding school. Looked brilliant on Harry Potter."

Bobbi scoffed. "Let me tell you, it was nothing like Hogwarts."

"Oh." Hunter said a little disappointed. "But you liked it? You told me you used to cry in the summer when you had to go back your Aunt and Uncle's."

"I did." Bobbi stressed. "Because it was the lesser of two evils. They spent thousands of dollars every year just so they didn't have to take care of me." She looked down at her lap. "School sucked, but at least I didn't have to worry about my Aunt's creepy drunk husband from hitting me with a belt."

Hunter wrapped both arms around her, holding her head close to his chest.

"It's okay." She told him. "It's over. I'm over it."

He had to breathe through the fury. "It's a good job he's fucking dead."

"Hunter." Bobbi kissed his jaw. "It's okay. It was a long time ago. Before my Mom and Dad. He's gone now."

"Yeah." Hunter said. "Or I'd kill him myself."

"Well, a heart attack beat you to it, but thanks." Bobbi gently pulled back from him, remaining in his arms but allowing herself some breathing space. "We're both okay."

"Yeah." He said. "Yeah."

"And," Bobbi continued, "Jemma will be, too. And we'll never send her off to boarding school."

"Agreed."

"Unless she wants to go."

Hunter cringed. "Maybe."

Bobbi smiled. "Yeah, no future children will ever be shipped off to school. We'll keep them close. Keep them safe."

Hunter smiled at her, stroking a strand of blonde hair by her ear. "Future children? We're having future children."

Bobbi blushed and looked down. "I mean, yeah? We'd make gorgeous babies."

He tipped her chin and her eyes met his. "Is this your weird way of telling me that you're pregnant?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not pregnant."

It wasn't exactly disappointment he felt at her admission, but there was something there he couldn't put his finger on. "Oh, okay." Hunter brushed a thumb over her cheek. "We would have beautiful babies, though."

"Yeah." Bob said.

"Or…" Hunter trailed off. It was something he'd thought about before, but never bothered to bring up. It had never seemed like the right time.

"What?" She asked.

"Um…" He coughed. "Maybe we could, you know, adopt? Adopt kids?"

Bobbi smiled at him, a proper smile that showed her teeth and crinkled her eyes at the corners. "We could."

Hunter shrugged. "Maybe in the future?"

"Yeah." Bobbi said. "How many?"

"Well, I mean, we already have one. Another ten and we've got a whole footie team."

She shook her head, still smiling like he'd offered her the whole world on a silver platter. "Shut up, Teacup."

"Yes, Ma'am."

…

Jemma was glad when her dad and Bobbi left her alone with Doctor Garner. There was something about not having them there listening in on her conversation that abated a certain amount of pressure to achieve something during the session.

"So," Doctor Garner said. He started lots of his sentences with 'so'. "Hunter and Bobbi, they are what to you?"

Jem blinked at him. "Are you trying to aske me what I classify them as? Because there's no need to go around the subject." She folded her arms and tried to stretch her feet to reach the floor. "I'd rather you just ask exactly what you want to know."

He smiled at her. "You certainly are a very bright young lady. Skye has told me a lot about you. It seems her analysis of intelligence was correct. You certainly are very smart."

"Thank you." She said.

"I would like to know how to see Bobbi and Hunter, though." He said. "Because I know you have biological parents."

"Everyone does." Jemma pointed out.

"Correct, but not everyone lives through the unique situation you have." Doctor Garner said. "You have no contact with them anymore?"

"I do not." Jemma said. "And I'm grateful for that. Lance was my brother, and now he's a father figure."

"And you call him…?"

"Dad." Jem said. The word was comforting. And once when she said it, the image of a balding middle-aged man with a mean streak and drunken temper came to mind, but now, well, he was still there, hovering a the back of her awareness, but Hunter was there at the front. Hunter was keeping her safe.

"Dad." Doctor Garner repeated. "And he has adopted you?"

"Yes. My biological parents didn't want me, and I didn't want them."

The Doctor paused. "And Bobbi?"

Jemma smiled, wrapping both arms around herself. "Bobbi is Hunter's wife."

"Is that all?"

Jem looked over at a poster of Garfield on the wall of the room. "You want me to tell you that I think of her like a mother? Or that I don't?"

He chuckled. "Smart."

"I've been told." She brought her eyes back to him and smiled. Jemma appreciated his honesty. She would try her best to be honest right back. "Bobbi is more difficult to explain."

"Tell me why."

She smirked. "You really are a therapist aren't you?"

Doctor Garner shrugged. "It's what I do."

"Skye calls you a 'feelings doctor', you know." Jem said. "I've tried to explain to her that you're a legitimate child psychologist and that she shouldn't belittle the fact that you went to four years of medical training."

"Ten."

"I'm sorry?"

Doctor Garner sat forward. "Ten years of medical training."

Jemma frowned. "But medical school is only four years long." She argued. She wasn't wrong. She knew that. "Four."

"But," Doctor Garner said far too gently, "I did my four years of med school, then I did another four of residency, and then decided psychiatry was more for me and did another two years placement in a medical mental institution."

Jemma opened her mouth, and then closed it again. "Oh." She said. "I, I thought it was four years to be a psychologist."

"Psychiatrist." He corrected. "I'm actually a psychiatrist."

Jem felt her cheeks heat up. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to get it wrong." She frowned, angry with herself. "I didn't know there was a difference!"

"It's alright, Jemma."

"No, it's not!" She told him. "I got it wrong. I'm not supposed to get things wrong."

Doctor Garner moved slightly in his chair. "Everyone makes mistakes."

"Not me."

"Jemma," He said, "we all get things wrong sometimes. It's a part of being human. Making mistakes is how we learn."

That was a ludicrous statement, and Jemma felt angry with him for believing that it was true. "I can learn perfectly well without making any mistakes."

"But if I hadn't corrected you just now, when would you have learned about the difference between psychologist and psychiatrists?"

Jemma stuttered. "Well, I, um…"

"I'll explain it to you, Jemma." He said kindly. "I'm not angry with you for getting it wrong. I'm not disappointed. And I'm happy to explain if you'd like me to."

She was torn. "I don't like it when I get things wrong."

"Maybe that's something we can work on."

"But why?"

"Because," Doctor Garner said, "it seems as though it makes you feel bad, and I don't want you to feel bad. I want you to be confident, and to not be afraid of making mistakes."

Jemma looked away. Garfield looked back at her from the poster, sweating and struggling to climb and gym rope. According to him it was 'all about trying'. That was easy for him to say, he was a cartoon cat.

She sighed. "Explain it to me, please." The words were soft, and Jemma couldn't explain why she had to try really hard not to cry, but Doctor Garner didn't seem to mind.

"Okay, then." He said. "In the most basic of senses," He explained, "a psychologist has a PhD and a psychiatrist has an MD. Do you know what they are?"

Jemma wiped her eyes. No tears were there, but her throat felt full and tight. "Philosophy Doctor and Medical Doctor." She said. "I know that."

"That's correct." He smiled. "Other differences include the fact that a psychiatrist can prescribe medication, where a psychologist cannot."

Jemma looked up at him in interest. She hadn't known that.

"And," He continued, "generally a psychiatrist tends to focus on patients with mental disorders. Generally."

"I don't have a mental disorder." Jemma said. "And neither does Skye. Does she?"

He smiled. "No, but I am also experienced in psychology. Especially child psychology."

"You're very talented." Jemma said with admiration.

"Thank you." Doctor Garner rested his arms on the arms of his chair. "I believe that you are also very talented."

"I am." Jemma said with no over confidence. It was just a fact. "I have a high IQ. I'm doing very well in school."

"Academically?"

She frowned at him. "Is there any other way?"

"Socially?" He suggested, and Jemma scoffed.

"That doesn't count. You aren't graded on how many friends you have." She shook her head. "Friends don't really matter."

"Oh?" the doctor sounded surprised. "But I hear from Skye that you are her best friend."

"I am." Jem said. "That's why she protects me." She thought about Skye being hurt by Brock because Jemma was a coward. "Skye is brave. I want to protect her, too, but I'm not brave like her."

"I take it we're now talking about the events that occurred at school, today."

Jemma nodded. "I suppose someone told you over the phone?"

"Your dad." He said. "Although I'd like to hear the whole thing from you."

"I was being bullied. Skye protected me. Skye got hurt. I did nothing." Jemma said. She dug her fingernails into her palms. "There really isn't anything more to it."

Doctor Garner picked up his clipboard, but wrote nothing down. "Somehow I doubt that."

Jemma tried to get her toes to reach the floor again. "I'd prefer not to talk about what happened at school today."

She was extremely surprised when Doctor Garner said, "Okay. Then we won't talk about that today."

"Really?" She failed to keep the utter shock out of her voice. Jem had read about therapists. Seen them on TV and in movies. She had really thought he was going to pressure her for answers.

"I won't make you talk about anything you don't feel comfortable discussing with me, Jemma. That isn't what these sessions are about." He smiled at her kindly. "I'm here to help you."

"Okay."

The doctor then scribbled something down on his paper. "I'm just making a note to myself, about the things you don't want to discuss." He said as he wrote. "We'll see how you feel talking about it at a later time."

"Okay."

He looked up from his clipboard. "So, let's talk about something you would like to talk about."

Jemma nodded. "Like what?"

"Well, before, we were talking about Bobbi."

Jemma smiled.

The doctor smiled back. "I take it we can comfortably talk about her?"

"Yes." Jemma grinned. "Bobbi's amazing. She's wonderful."

He nodded. "Tell me about her."

So Jemma did. Talking about her Bobbi was an easy thing. It didn't take much thought, or reasoning. It didn't dredge up negative memories or anxious feelings in her chest and stomach. It was light, airy, and pleasant. It evoked a pride in Jemma that she hadn't realised was there.

"You love Bobbi?" Doctor Garner asked.

"Yes." Jem said. "I love her an awful lot."

"And she loves you?"

Jemma nodded. "She does. I know she does. She tells me all the time. Shows me."

Doctor Garner smiled and leaned back in his chair. "I'm going to ask you a frank question, Jemma. I could skirt around it, and make my own assumptions, but I think you'd prefer it if I just addressed it directly."

This was what Jem liked about this doctor.

"Yes." She said. "Ask away."

He nodded. "Is Bobbi your mother?"

Jemma cleared her throat, giving herself a moment to think. She appreciated Doctor Garner's approach, but it didn't necessarily allow for much of a thought process. And Jemma preferred to think things through.

"I think," she said slowly, "that Bobbi would like to be my mum."

He nodded. "And what would you like?"

"I'm not sure." She said truthfully. "I love her, but…"

"Yes?"

Jemma tugged on the end of her plait. "I never liked my father." She admitted. "He was nasty, he shouted, and he hit my mother. I didn't love him and he didn't love me."

"So," Doctor Garner said, "Lance Hunter was a welcome replacement?"

"Yes." Jemma said, happy he seemed to be following. "But my mother…she wasn't always so bad." She closed her eyes. "She wasn't very nice in the end, but I can remember when she was kind. Sometimes when I was very little, she told me that she loved me." Jem sighed and opened her eyes. "I suspect those memories are from before substance abuse overtook her life."

"You seem very well educated on why your biological mother's care deteriorated."

"I am." She said. "I'm clever. And I listen and observe." Jemma smiled, but it was sad and bitter. "I was never young enough not to know what alcoholism was like. It changed her."

"I see." Doctor Garner frowned. "Do you miss your mother?"

"No." She said quickly. "I don't."

"Do you miss the mother that you used to have before she was an alcoholic?"

She tickled her cheek with the end of her plait. "Some days. Not often, but…sometimes."

"And Bobbi…?"

Jemma dropped her gaze to her feet. "I want Bobbi to be my mummy." She hadn't meant to sound so juvenile. "But I feel guilty. Like I'm cheating on my mum. Which makes no sense because she's not that person anymore." She looked up at Doctor Garner expectantly, wanting him to give her answers.

"I think you've answered your own question, there, Jemma." He said. "She's not that person you miss."

"So I shouldn't feel guilty." She deduced.

He just shrugged. "That's your decision to make."

Jemma nodded. "I see."

"It's just something to think about."

…

Skye fell asleep in her own bed sprawled across the chest of her Daddy. He fell asleep, too, and when Skye awoke and sat up, her Daddy didn't even move. He was snoring, and Skye put her hands over her mouth so her giggles wouldn't wake him.

She kissed his cheek and climbed over him, leaving her room and closing the door behind him.

The house was too quiet.

Natasha and Clint's door was still closed, so Skye pushed her ear up against it and listened hard. They were talking. Not loud enough for Skye to make anything out, but she could hear the low rumbling of Clint's voice. They were safe. She decided to leave them alone. They had had a very bad day, just like Skye.

Mommy's bedroom door was closed. Skye couldn't hear anything so she opened it and peeked inside. Mommy was asleep, curled up on top of her covers, with one hand on the baby. Skye waited in the doorway for a moment. She wasn't sure what she was hoping for, but nothing happened. Mommy didn't wake up. Skye left her and the baby, and went downstairs.

It was cold outside, but sunny. Skye put on her shoes, and her coat, and at the last second decided that Mommy would tell her to wear a hat, so she grabbed it from the hook and pulled it on. She wasn't supposed to go outside without telling anyone, but there was no one to tell. Mommy and Daddy were asleep. Clint and Natasha were safe in their room.

But Skye felt all stuck and too hot in the house. She wanted to go outside.

The front yard was good for playing soccer, maybe even better than the back yard, because the front yard had a painted goal on the fence that gave Skye something to aim at. There were four different balls on the front porch, and Skye picked the silver soccer ball that had once belonged to Hunter, and began shooting it at the painted goal.

It was fun. It made Skye forget about her sore hands and the bump on her head.

"Hello."

The ball missed the goal, and Skye turned towards the voice. A man stood at the end of their driveway by the fence. Skye didn't know him.

"Hello." He said again.

Skye didn't speak. The man wore a suit, like her Daddy did for work, except this man's suit looked like it had seen better days. His sleeve was ripped, and there were stains on his white shirt.

"I've been watching you." He said. "You're very good."

Skye looked over to where the ball sat stationary near the edge of the fence at the other end of the lawn.

"You're very quiet, aren't you?" He said.

Skye tucked her cold hands inside of her sleeves. "I'm not 'posed to talk to strangers." She said.

The man frowned. "I'm not a stranger, Daisy."

Daisy? "You got the wrong kid, mister."

"I don't think so. I'd know my own Daisy anywhere." He stepped onto the grass. "Don't you remember me, Daisy?"

"I'm Skye."

He reached out to her and Skye stumbled away from his dirty fingernails.

"Skye? Skye?!"

Clint's voice sounded through the front door, and Skye turned as opened it, relief flooding across his face when he saw her.

"Honey, what are you doing out here?"

Skye turned around. The man was gone. She looked back to Clint.

"Soccer." She said, indicating the ball in the grass.

He sighed, stepping out of the house towards her. "You know you're not allowed out without asking. We were worried."

She felt a little shaken. That man had tried to grab her, she was sure, and now he was gone. Skye was scared of ghosts, she decided.

Clint seemed a little surprised when she launched herself into his arms, and even though he groaned in pain, he lifted her into his arms and held her close. She hugged him.

"What's up, kiddo?" He asked gently. Clint chuckled. "Actually, after the day you've had, I guess that's a stupid question, huh?"

Skye didn't reply. Clint's eye was even more messed up than it was before his nap. It was swollen and ugly. Skye kissed it to make it feel better.

"Thank you." He said.

Skye looked over her shoulder. The man still wasn't there.

"Skye? Are you alright, Squirt?" He asked.

She frowned. "Clint? Are ghosts real?"

He raised both brows. "No. I don't think so. Why?"

"There was a man…" Skye looked back behind her, and trailed off.

"A man?" Clint sounded serious. "What man? Skye? What man?"

Skye turned back to him. "I don't know."

"Did he talk to you? Skye? What did he look like?" Clint looked mad, and Skye didn't like it.

"Are you mad at me?" She said in a small voice.

His face softened, and he kissed her head. "No, no, kiddo. Not mad at you. I was…I was just worried."

"About the ghost?"

"The man." Clint said. "What did he look like?"

Skye remembered his suit. His dark hair. His dirty fingernails. "I don't know." She lied. The man made Clint mad and worried, so Skye didn't want anyone to know. "I don't know." She said again.

Clint carried her inside. Natasha told her off for going out on her own, but then she made Skye hot chocolate, and they watched a movie about a girl called Merida who liked to shoot a bow and arrows. Clint liked her and she had red hair like Natasha. Skye looked out of the window for the man.

"Mommy?" She asked, a long time later when Clint and Nat were watching TV, and her Daddy was on the phone with Bobbi. Mommy was getting ready to take Skye to see Andrew for her session. She said that Jemma had been to see him earlier, and that was what Daddy was talking to Bobbi on the phone about.

"Yes?" Mommy answered, putting Skye's hat on her head.

"Are ghosts real, Mommy?" Skye asked.

Mommy sat back on her heals, crouched by Skye. She tilted her head to one side. "Ghosts?" She asked and Skye nodded. "No, baby. Ghosts aren't real." She stood up and rubbed her thumb lightly over the bump on Skye's head. "Why do you ask?"

Skye didn't want to lie to Mommy, so she shrugged instead. "Can we still go see the trees at the gym?"

Mommy smiled and nodded, which Skye hadn't expected at all. She had only asked to change the subject, but she was thrilled with the result.

"Really?" She smiled. "I get to see the trees?"

Mommy laughed. "As long as you realise it's because I love you and I want you to be happy, and not because I'm rewarding you for your behaviour at school today."

Skye couldn't help but grin when Mommy did. "Cool."

Mommy shook her head. "Cool."

…

"Seriously, Dad," Grant said as he and Tony worked on the latest model of their miniature Iron Man robot, "you should have seen it." The little boy grinned. "Skye beat his ass up!"

Tony laughed. "Don't say 'ass'."

"Fine." Grant said, passing him a spanner, "butt."

Lucky trotted into the room and dropped a soggy tennis ball at Tony's feet, cocking his head, tongue lolling out of his mouth. He did a little 'ruff' and looked poignantly at the ball.

Tony rolled his eyes and threw the gross ball out of the room, dog flying after it.

"I guess it was an exciting day, then, huh?" He said.

Grant nodded. "Yeah. I mean, I was worried because Skye got real hurt, but Mom says she's okay."

It was only a recent thing, Grant calling Pepper 'mom', and he wasn't sure any of them were entirely used to it. Grant called her 'Pepper' more often to her face, but to Tony, he almost always called her 'mom'. It was cute. Tony had chosen not to comment on it.

"But she got suspended." Grant continued. "So she can't come to school until after Christmas."

"That sucks." Tony said.

"Yeah." Grant poked at a circuit board that Tony knew very well he was perfectly capable of completing on his own. Grant was smart and Tony had been teaching him well. The little boy sighed heavily. "I haven't told her yet."

"I see." Tony said. He knew without asking exactly what Grant was referring to. It was something he had been fretting over for weeks, now. "You know, if you don't tell Skye that you're going into fifth grade, she's going to be even more upset when she finds out from someone else."

"I know." Grant said, irritated. "Sorry." He mumbled. "I just don't want to upset her."

Tony hugged his son. "I know, I know." He kissed his head. "It's hard."

"Yeah."

"But you need to tell her."

"Yeah." Grant hugged him back. "I'll tell her."

…

I'll tell them.

You know I will.

I know what you and that little whore did. I know.

Clint hadn't wanted to tell Nat, but then she had started getting the texts, too.

Gorgeous girl, I bet you wish you'd stayed with me.

I know what you did, girl. I know everything.

I'll tell.

Blackmail's a bitch.

She already had thirty when she switched her phone on.

How's that uncle of yours?

Little slut. Lost your V at 12 didn't you? I bet you were a sexy little thing.

And then they started coming, faster than they could even read them, on both phones. They didn't know how he was doing it.

Run.

Clinton I'll come for ya.

Little brother. I'll find ya.

Little girl, I'm thinking of ya.

I'm telling.

Ha. Ha. Ha. Run away, kids. I'll find ya…

Barney's coming…

They locked themselves away in their room. Couldn't bring themselves to switch off the phones again.

I know where you live.

Scared of what he would say.

That little kid you live with is pretty cute.

Do you think she knows what you did?

Who he would tell.

Want to go to prison?

It fucking sucks.

He was a madman with nothing to lose.

Run, run as fast as you can.

The most dangerous man, was a man with nothing to lose.

I'm coming.

A/N:

Follow me on twitter: BubbaEmss

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TRIGGER WARNINGS:

-Rape-
-Underage sexual behaviour-
-Fairly graphic violence-
-Threatening language-

So, guys, what did you think. A lot's been happening for this poor family, huh? Poor guys. Such a shame. Let me know what you thought. Leave me a comment?

Love you loads,
-Em. xx