Chapter 1 - Arrows Cutting Through the Cold by Lord_Ghirahim

Chapter One: We Wish You a Merry Invasion

"Apollo! I'm not kidding!" she shouted.

Eleanor Bishop was a tall, pale woman with short black hair. Normally, she was a calm, collected businesswoman, but right now, she was pissed.

"I'm telling you, you need to move!" Apollo replied. He was in his usual form, a chill, tan, blond surfer dude. Then, however, he was decidedly not chill, as agitated as Eleanor was. "Eleanor, the gods have locked down Mount Olympus. Zeus hasn't been this paranoid since Hades' rebellion! I'm the god of prophecy and—"

"And you left me! Us! You waltzed in, looking for some fun, and waltzed right out!" she bellowed.

"That's, that's…"

"What? Exactly what happened?" she scoffed. "And now you come back, with conspiracy theories about aliens? What is this, some kind of joke?! An attempt to weasel your way back into our lives? Maybe to score a second time?"

He turned red. "No! I'm not even supposed to be here! Zeus temporarily banned all contact with mortalkind until this all blows over! I'm trying to help you! You've got a daughter to think of."

She scowled. "I've got it under control, Apollo. Here on Earth, with us mortals, solutions don't just fall out of the sky! We work hard for things, and don't just abandon them because of vague tall tales about aliens!"

Behind them, there was a thud. They turned, each aware of whose room was on the other side.

Eleanor sighed. "Damn it."

"Do you want to?" Apollo asked.

She rubbed her forehead. "Who are we kidding? You go."

Apollo knocked at the door. "Kate? Coming in."

He opened the door into his daughter's bedroom, taking in the sights of the pink wallpaper, sheets, pillow, everything. In the bed itself, hugging her knees, was Kate Bishop herself. She had curly, dark brown hair, with pale skin.

Apollo sat at her bedside, smiling. "You shouldn't eavesdrop."

"Then how would I know what you're saying when I'm not there?" she asked.

Apollo chuckled softly. "I don't know how to argue with that. How much did you hear?"

After a moment, she mumbled, "I don't want to move."

Apollo sucked in a breath through his teeth. "That much, huh? Look, it's just for safety. And it seems like your mom won't do it, anyway. You're not gonna move."

"How do you know?" she asked, staring up at him with big blue eyes. "Mommy said things don't just fall from the sky."

"Well, yeah, but there's always gonna be weather. There's always going to be the big bright sun, watching over you. Some people forget the one thing they can control with fate and destiny; the choices they make in the face of it."

She looked down, thinking. Abruptly, she asked, "What would you do if the aliens are real?"

He patted her head. "I would do what I always do. Protect you." He moved his hand to her cheek, lifting her gaze. "Now, why don't you go have some lunch with your mom?"

He stood, and began walking to the doorway. Just before he left the room, he tossed her a Panda Pillow Pet, summoned out of nowhere. He tossed it to her. "Think fast." 

She caught it effortlessly. He smiled. "That's my daughter."

Eleanor smiled down at Kate. "Why don't you go grab the Checkers? We can liven things up." They'd finished their grilled cheese sandwiches, sitting on the carpet in their spacious living room.

Kate grinned widely. "All right. Yeah!" She jumped up, went upstairs. 

She opened the cupboard where they stored the board games. She grasped the Checkers board, right as a loud boom echoed outside. The chandeliers in the hallway shuddered.

Kate stepped back, looking around nervously. "Mommy?"

Another explosion, this one louder than the first. The lights flickered and the room shook.

"Mommy!" Kate ran out of the hallway, panting hard. She trotted down the stairs as fast as she could, looking around wildly for her mother. "Mommy? Mommy, what's happening?"

There was no response, save for the sounds of battle and explosions outside. Kate heard whooshing, too, as if people were zooming past the penthouse.

"Daddy, where are you?" She screamed, tears running down her cheeks. "Dad? Dad. Daddy, where are you? Please!"

She yelped as someone grabbed her from behind. She whirled, only to see that it was her mother. "Mommy!" she gasped, and hugged her tightly.

Then, the room tore apart in a blinding explosion. The chandelier slammed to the ground an inch from the pair, as the roof was ripped off like a band-aid, and tiny shards of glass sliced little cuts into Kate's cheeks as they whizzed past her. The windows shattered and the wall collapsed, revealing the horrific scene outside.

Manhattan was under attack, as… things on flying vehicles poured out of a hole in the sky, shooting and killing everything. Whale-sized snakes clad in otherworldly armor rammed into buildings, knocking down skyscrapers like bowling pins. Fires burned and debris fell as far as the eye could see. Overcome with sheer terror, Kate could do nothing but loose a terrible scream.

Drawn by the sound, one of the flying monsters stopped, and approached. It aimed itself, and readied to fire—

An arrow sprouted in its neck, and it fell forwards, leaning on the controls. It careened towards Kate and Eleanor, crashing a few feet in front of them. It exploded, orange and yellow flaring before them. Kate felt the heat slap across her face, and instinctively stumbled back.

Kate stared at the man who'd saved her life, awed. He wore a black and purple outfit, carried a black bow, and had short hair. 

Though she did not know who he was then, he would come to be known by the world as Hawkeye.

"Kate!" Eleanor shouted. She gripped her shoulders, and squatted down so they were eye-to-eye. "We have to get out of here."

"But Daddy! He said he'd protect us! Daddy said!" she was sobbing, her voice breaking.

Eleanor held her close, fighting back her own tears as Kate wept into her shirt, looking out at the ruined city.

There was a citywide wake two weeks later. Demand for funerals had increased so much, actually organizing everyone and getting a coffin and a grave became next to impossible. To alleviate the problem, the city organized a massive memorial service for everyone who had died in the Chitauri Invasion. Hopefully, they reasoned, people would be satisfied with the memorial, and some would decide not to do a personal funeral. 

Kate lost three cousins, including a toddler who'd been two weeks from his third birthday, her only aunt and uncle, and her grandparents. She was inconsolable, like many others at the service, crying softly. Eleanor felt the loss as deeply as Kate did, but worked to stay strong for her only daughter.

"W-what if they come back?" Kate managed some time later. Her eyes were red and puffy, her face damp.

"They won't come back." Eleanor whispered, stroking her hair.

"How do you know?" she whimpered.

"Because the heroes showed them what would happen. And even though this is scary, I'm still the luckiest woman in the world because I have the greatest little girl in the world." she sniffled, her resolve cracking slightly. "W-who is not that little."

Kate wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "I need to protect us. Because Daddy… Dad didn't." she inhaled shakily.

Eleanor shook her head. "Kate, that's my job. Okay? Whatever you need, I'm here for you."

"I need…" she wiped her face again, a steely fire settling into her blue eyes. She remembered the invasion, and the man who saved her life. 

"I need a bow and arrow."

"With the strength you bring us, we'll rise again!"

"Avengers unite, 'cause we've got to hear you say!"

"I could do this all day!"

Clint Barton sat with his family, at the opening night of Rogers: The Musical, a musical biopic of Captain America's life that took, er, liberties. No pun intended. He sat in the front with his family, and he wasn't very impressed.

He'd been trying to avoid looking at her for the entire play, but then Natasha Romanoff's actress was in the middle of the stage, and he couldn't look away.

He was back, back on that hellish planet, looking down at her pleading face. The air was brittle and cold, and he hung on to the edge of the cliff, as she clutched his hand.

"Let me go." she whispered.

He couldn't see anything through his tears. He shook his head. "No, please… no."

She smiled sadly. "It's okay…"

Then she kicked off of him, and she was falling, falling, falling—

"Dad?" Lila asked.

Clint started, and looked over at his daughter's face. For a moment, she thought, he looked distant, as though he weren't seeing her. Then, his eyes cleared, and he was sitting beside her again. "Did you turn your hearing aids off?" she asked, though they both knew he hadn't.

"No, honey, I know what happens. I was there." he rubbed his face. "But you know who wasn't there? Is that guy." he pointed. "Ant-Man."

He stood. "Um, I need to go to the bathroom." Muttering apologies, he scooted away towards the bathroom.

He splashed water on his face, trying to catch his breath. He looked down, and his eyes settled on a small black graffitied message.

Thanos Was Right.

A man opened the bathroom door, and gasped. "Holy shit!"

Clint looked up from the bathroom sink.

They mumbled, "A selfie would be really rad, dude. My kids would flip. You're their absolute favorite!"

"Oh. Um… sure, I guess."

In the winter after the Invasion, Kate was expelled from her 5th grade school. Thankfully, it had come at the end of the school year, so her mother enrolled her into a school that many other young, rich juvenile delinquents attended: Yancy Academy.

It was there that Kate Bishop met eleven year old Percy Jackson. Well, he turned twelve almost immediately after school started in August, but she liked to pretend he was still eleven, just to needle him. Though, of course, she'd just turned twelve just a few months before, on May 7th. They became fast friends, and poor Grover was forced to watch over two demigods, not just one.

Kate fought Mrs. Dodds alongside him, went to camp alongside him, and quested in June of 2013 to retrieve the stolen lightning bolt alongside him. She rescued Grover with Percy and Annabeth the following summer, and Artemis and Annabeth that winter. She delved into the Labyrinth with her friends in 2015, and defended Manhattan from Kronos's forces the next year.

When Percy went missing, she did everything she could with Annabeth to find him, including rescuing Leo, Jason, and Piper at the Grand Canyon that year. She was (most unwillingly) a part of the Prophecy of Eight, and successfully (read: barely) stopped the world from ending on August 1st, 2017.

And so, satisfied with her questing, and all that she'd gone through with her friends, the Fates gave her a billion dollars, a private island resort, and let her live to a ripe old age, free from any more strife or conflict. The End.

…Is what she wishes happened after Gaea was defeated. Instead, the mightiest mortal heroes of Earth (well, mortal plus one Norse god) were not as good at their jobs as the demigods had been at saving the world. Not even eight months later, a buff purple alien with a name ironically similar to Thanatos killed half the population of the universe with a snap on March 29th, 2018.

Kate, Percy, and Annabeth, thank the gods, survived. But so many still died. Some of her closest friends. Jason, Leo, Piper, Chiron, Nico, Will, Travis, Clarisse, literally the entire Hephaestus Cabin, and so, so many more crumbled to dust that day. She only managed to sort through the ashes of her life, salvage what was left of camp, only because of her friends.

As though that weren't enough, her mental health was about as great as Fields of Punishment were for a vacation spot. She became depressed and anxious, at times barely able to function. She was tormented by constant nightmares. Sometimes, she was ten years old again, watching her home be destroyed by grey aliens. Other nights, she was deep in the Labyrinth, running down a corridor from something she could not see, something breathing heavily and intent on killing her, or worse.

She hated it. Absolutely hated it. Percy and Annabeth have trudged in the pits of Tartarus, she wanted to scream. Calypso lost Leo to the Snap, Connor lost a brother, and yet I'm the one who can't cope? Anything I've been through is nothing compared to my friends, so why should I be the one person who can't handle it?

No matter how much she raged, her problems did not go away.

It was as if she were constantly wrapped in a cocoon, the world outside an indistinct grey blob. She wasn't sad, exactly, but detached. Detached from the world, from her friends, from any emotion even resembling happiness. She'd heard what depression was like, but it was something else entirely to experience it firsthand.

She was alone, drifting in the ruins of her life. For five years.

She spent those five years in a haze, filling her time with practice and training. She left camp, moved to an apartment in Manhattan she'd inherited, and joined every fencing, archery, martial arts, and gymnastics competition she could find. She dominated, of course—she'd been doing them in life-or-death situations since she was twelve—but the endless rows of medals and certificates still didn't help. Attending college at Ormsby Mitchel University in New York didn't either. No matter how hard she tried, she could feel nothing.

Her friends drifted apart, as Kate's depression worsened and their camps needed them to deal with the fallout of the Snap. Still, they tried to reach out. The handful of times they'd hung out had been marked by sullen silence (from everyone) and the absence of Leo, Jason, and Piper was even more conspicuous.

Then, all of a sudden, everyone came back.

Chapter 2: Have Yourself a Very Destroyed Little Clock TowerNotes:Holy moly, thanks for all the comments and kudos and hits and stuff! In just a few days, this fiction has more kudos, comments, bookmarks, and hits than the one I've had up for weeks! You can have this one early, as a treat.

While I've got you, I may as well take the opportunity to plug my other fanfic, The Point of An Arrow. Just click on my profile name, go to works, and enjoy. Or, here's a link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/35493772/chapters/88476391

Back to this fiction. Kate is my favorite character in Marvel, and I can't tell you how much I'm enjoying writing this. Every chapter title in this fiction, by the way, will be a spoof of the name of a famous Christmas song.

Anyway, have fun with this chapter! Feel free to offer constructive criticism (I always want to be a better writer) but be nice. ;)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter TextChapter Two: Have Yourself a Very Destroyed Little Clock Tower

The Blip, it was called.

It was chaotic, it was loud, and it was real. As if she'd woken from a coma, as if she'd been born again, emotions came flooding back, threatening to overwhelm her. All at once, she could feel joy, amusement, excitement all over again. She'd spent an entire hour the weekend after the Blip wheezing with laughter, crying for joy, after watching—of all things—Titanic. 

Over the year after the Blip, she began to piece her life back together. She reconnected with her newly returned friends—it was odd suddenly being 5 years older than Jason, Piper, and Leo—and with her old ones. Percy, Annabeth, Hazel, Frank and everyone else were mostly relieved to have their Kate Bishop back. And she was glad to have them back. So, soglad.

Kate stood at the top of the library, staring down the clock tower. It was a clear night, cold with no wind. She gripped her bow, absentmindedly drumming her fingers along the riser.

Sitting behind her, above the doorway to the roof, Annabeth tittered. "Look, you can back off if you really want, okay? If you can't make this, I'm not gonna think less of you."

Annabeth wore a grey Ormsby Mitchel University hoodie, complete with the steam-train logo with stars behind it. She wore dark blue jeans, and her blonde hair was tousled, her grey eyes glittering with mirth.

Kate rolled her eyes. "Shut up, Wise Girl. When I make this shot, you'll be doing my homework for the next month."

"Hey. Only Percy can call me Wise Girl. And when you prove that the bell moves back and forth, you'll be doing my homework for the next month. I'll email you my assignments from California."

"Typical Athena kid hubris." Kate snickered.

"Typical Apollo kid arrogance." Annabeth teased.

"Hey!"

Annabeth laughed. "You know it's true. Look, if we get caught, you're definitely gonna be kicked off the archery team."

Kate smirked. "Yeah, I know. But a bet's a bet, Chase."

Annabeth scowled. "Percy's rubbing off on you."

Kate flipped her the bird.

"Okay, so the real question," Annabeth said, ignoring her. "Does the bell swing back and forth, or the clapper swing back and forth? I say it's obviously the bell."

"See? I would disagree. I think it's the dangly thingy." Kate mused, angling her bow.

"It's called the clapper." Annabeth told her.

"Yes, the dangly thingy."

Annabeth rolled her eyes. "Nice outfit by the way, Kate."

Kate looked down at herself. She looked like a burglar or something, in all black. Her hair had darkened from brown over the years, now jet black, which she wore in a messy ponytail with bangs. Her hair fluttered slightly in the growing breeze.

She shrugged. "Yeah, well, sometimes, you gotta dress the part."

Annabeth shook her head. "You look like Will when the Romans were invading camp."

Kate snorted. "I do, don't I? I'll get Piper to fix me up, okay?"

"Yeah, she's excellent. Anyway, I know it's a bet, but are you sure that arrow won't damage it?"

Kate tilted her head back and forth. "Hmm, well… no."

The bow creaked as she pulled the drawstring, and she let her arrow fly.

It hit the bell, which dinged pathetically.

Kate scoffed. "Well, that was a bit of a letdown."

She reached a hand into her quiver, and grasped a celestial bronze-tipped arrow.

She rubbed it between her fingers, thinking. "Okay, you know what, just hang on. Let me just fix this. Give me a second."

She notched the bronze arrow, and set it on the arrow rest.

Annabeth raised an eyebrow. "Celestial bronze? Are you sure? It might cut through the metal of the bell."

Kate shrugged. "It might. It might not."

She aimed the bow, pulled back the drawstring, and took a deep, slow breath. She listened to her heartbeat, smelled the crisp air, tasted the snow that had just begun to fall, and felt the tense string under her calloused index and middle fingers.

She fired the arrow.

It zipped through the air, and whacked the bell hard, tolling loudly, as if it were supposed to.

Kate laughed. "Oh, my gods! That was amazing! Wow!"

Annabeth nodded, impressed. "Nice, Kate."

Then the metal groaned loudly. Kate whirled, and her smile faltered. "That's fine."

It creaked, and a thick divide marred the bell. Annabeth gasped.

Kate started tapping her foot nervously. "Right? I mean, it gives it character. All famous bells have cracks in them."

The bell fell from its place, onto the viewing floor, with a loud thud, no longer suspended. "Um, all right, that's, that's not great. But it could be worse."

The building rumbled, and the top part of the tower collapsed, destroying the clock and the bell, and the top fifth of the tower. Some more collapsing. Okay, top quarter… more collapsing… and now top third.

Annabeth's eyes were wide, her hands over her mouth. "This is bad."

The two of them were about to open the door and flee, before the door was slammed open by some security guard.

"Hold it!" He shouted.

Annabeth said, "It was me. I fired the arrow, and I pressed Kate here into watching me. She did nothing."

The guard stared at her. "She's… literally still holding the bow."

Kate opened her hands and dropped the bow.

Annabeth chuckled nervously.

The pair of them stood outside Grand Central Terminal. Both Kate and Annabeth were shivering in their coats, as Kate mentally prepared herself to call her mom. Annabeth had put on a puffy snow jacket, and Kate wore a dark green trench coat, a black beanie, and ripped jeans. The jeans hadn't been ripped when she got them, but a few fights with a few harpies later, and her light blue pants had a new look.

Annabeth blew into her mittened hands. "Never gets like this in New Rome, let me tell you. At least your mom knows about your demigoddyness, so maybe she'll be kinda chill about it?"

Kate regarded her. "Demigoddyness?"

She stuck her tongue out at her.

Kate smirked. "You don't have much of a vocabulary when it's cold, huh?"

"S-shut up." she managed, teeth chattering. 

"You know, you've been away from New York too long, if the cold is bothering you this much. Maybe—"

"Will you stop stalling and call your mom already?"

"Hmph. Fine." she dialed the number. "Hey, Mom!"

"Hey, honey! I missed you." Eleanor said. Her voice was tinny over the phone. "Are you in the city?" She asked.

"Yeah, I am. I was gonna stop by my place and then come see you."

Annabeth nodded vigorously. "Yeah! Let's go to your warm apartment."

Kate shushed her.

Eleanor asked, "Will you come here first, please? Jack's over. I want to talk to you about something."

Kate's expression soured. Jack. Lovely. "Okay. I'll see you soon, Mom." She hung up, and looked at Annabeth.

Annabeth sighed. "We can't go to your apartment, can we?"

She shook her head. 

Annabeth groaned, and signaled a taxi. "Look, I know it's not really my business—"

Kate was instantly tense. "What? What is it?"

Annabeth raised her hands like she was surrendering. "Relax. All I'm saying is that I think you ought to consider telling your mom about the quests you've been on? I know you try to keep her far from all this, but Kronos and Gaea—"

"Thanks for your input." Kate said shortly. "I'll take it under consideration. Your taxi is here."

Annabeth studied her. "Kate—"

"Taxi."

She looked at her for a long while, then sighed. "Alright. See you."

"Bye."

Annabeth got in the taxi, which drove off.

Did she feel bad about shutting down her friend like that? Yeah, admittedly, she did. But she didn't mix her sane life with her crazy one. Ever. She needed ironclad barriers between the two. She needed a world without everything that had happened. If the wall between her mortal life and demigod life broke down…

Kate swallowed, and closed her eyes. She inhaled deeply, and exhaled, feeling the cold air fill her lungs. She waited for the nausea to pass, the ringing in her ears to quiet, and started walking to her mom's place.

About twenty minutes later, she nodded at the doorman. "Good evening, Miss Bishop."

She beamed at him. "How's it going, Bartholomew? Wife, kids, all good?"

He smiled. "Wonderful, wonderful, Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas!" she walked into the building, and stepped into the elevator. 

Fine, she wasn't religious at all, and she was the daughter of a pagan god, but Christmas was Christmas. She loved it.

Kate stepped out, and immediately found her mom. Eleanor turned and smiled. "Hi, sweetie."

"Hi, mom." She loved her mother. And not just because she had to or something—her determination, all that she'd accomplished with Bishop Security… It was amazing, really.

She wore a dark red dress, satin and sophisticated.

"Oh, you look amazing." Kate gushed. "What are we looking all fancy for?"

"Charity auction."

Kate's smile vanished. Gods save her from boring, inane charity balls. She'd rather go another round with the flock of harpies that had improved her jeans. "Ugh."

"I know, right? All those poor people and nonprofits relying on the more fortunate." Eleanor chuckled.

"That is not what I meant."

"Mmm. You know, as much as I love having you home for the holidays, I'm not thrilled that I'm about to replace an irreplaceable clock tower. I hear it was made in 1725."

"Bell tower, actually. Oldest university bell tower in the US, as the dean kept telling me." Kate muttered.

"Actually, it had both a bell and a clock, and you, overachiever that you are, managed to destroy both." Eleanor said.

She looked down. "What can I do to make it better, mom?"

"Well, I've started by cancelling your credit cards. We're going to have a talk about this tower you destroyed, without joking." Eleanor walked over to Kate, and locked eyes with her. "I know young people think they're invincible, and rich people think they're invincible and you've always been both. So take it from someone who hasn't, you're not. You will get hurt. So please, don't go out looking for it."

Kate tugged at the sleeves of her shirt, remembering the time she broke her wrist in the Labyrinth, when she was run through during the Battle of Manhattan, and recalled being tortured for information in Greece. 

"Hurt. Right." 

Eleanor sighed. "You get that from your father, you know. The confidence. Almost cockiness." She smiled, and said, "Why don't you make it up to me by putting on the fancy clothes in your bedroom and coming with me tonight?"

Well, she couldn't very well say no, could she? "All right."

She walked down the hall, before she stopped, staring at something on the wall, her heart pounding. 

"Kate?" Eleanor's voice drifted down the hall, but it was tiny, faint.

Kate stared at the celestial bronze swords mounted on the wall, the sounds of a battle that ended almost eight years ago echoing in her ears. The desperate battle against Kronos's Army, her one-on-one duel with Hyperion, feeling his flaming sword plunge into her collarbone—

"Kate!" a new voice said.

Kate jumped, startled. It was Jack Duquesne, her mother's boyfriend. Her fear cooled instantly, turning to irritation. She didn't notice that she was rubbing the scar on her collarbone until she felt the remnants of the three inch long gash, ridged with a rough burn scar.

Kate dropped her hands and cleared her throat. "Sorry. Zonked out. ADHD and all that." She forced her voice to be level. "Um, so what's with all the swords?"

"Well, there's been a few changes since you've been gone, hon." Eleanor said, looking concerned. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Mmhmm. I'm fine, Mom." She said.

"Okay. Well, anyway, Jack's going to be attending the ball with us. Isn't that great?"

Kate forced a smile. "Yes. Great."

Eleanor nodded. "Well, we can't be late, so go change, alright? Meet us at the hotel and we'll talk there."

Kate continued down the hall.

Eleanor called, "See you there, honey!"

"See you." she breathed.

Once they were out of sight, Kate closed her eyes, and took a deep, shuddering breath, waiting for the metal swords to stop clashing in her head, for the fiery metal to pull itself from her shoulder.

Another deep breath, and she opened her eyes, walking to her bedroom to get dressed.

After all, she had a party to attend.

Notes:Chapter title derived from Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, written by Hugh Martin and Ralph Blane in 1943.

Chapter 3: Rockin' Around the Black Market AuctionNotes:Updates are coming too slowly! Now they're at least once every 3-4 days. Or sooner, if I feel like it. I've got a huge backlog of chapters, and I wanna speed this up.

Ormsby Mitchel University, by the way, is named after an obscure Union general who died in the American Civil War, who I feel doesn't get enough credit, so I named the university after him. He was an astronomer, too, with the nickname "Old Stars". The train in the logo for the university is a reference to his role in ordering the Great Locomotive Chase during the war.

I'm a history buff, if you can't tell, especially with the American Civil War.

Anyway, feel free to leave constructive criticism!

Enjoy the chapter!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter TextChapter Three: Rockin' Around the Black Market Auction

"Oh, you look like an absolute crazy person." Lila snickered, staring at her younger brother, Nathaniel. "You're a total maniac."

He was moving his eyes around wildly, a frozen grin on his face. 

Clint laughed. "Alright, alright. Is anyone else hungry? Let's—"

In his pocket, his phone started ringing. He pulled it out, and glanced at the screen. "Oh, wait, wait. Momma's calling. Say "Hi!"

"Hi, Mom!" Cooper said.

"Hi, Momma!" Lila echoed.

"Hey, guys! How are ya? I miss you so much!"

"We miss you, too." they chorused.

"How was the show?"

Clint coughed, "It was, uh… it's over. It was big."

"We left halfway through." Lila told her.

Clint looked up, as Laura chuckled over the phone. "Oh, no! You guys all good?"

Clint turned off the speakerphone, and held it to his ear. "Uh, yeah, it'd be easier if you were here." he smiled. "I'd be less likely to strangle these kids."

"The whole point was for you to spend time with the kids." Laura chided.

"No, I'm kidding. We're having a really good time. We miss you. I miss you."

"I can't wait to see you guys tomorrow."

He switched it back to speakerphone. "Say bye, everyone!"

"Bye, Mom!"

"Love you!"

"Bye-bye."

Clint hung up. "Well, look, it's six days until Christmas, okay? We're gonna do a lot of activities. What's your favorite one?"

Cooper shrugged. "Gingerbread house, I guess?"

Clint pointed at him. "We're doing that! What else you got?"

Lila said, "Uh, Christmas movie marathon."

"Movie marathon, awesome!" He said.

Nathaniel raised his hand like he were at school. "Uh, ugly sweaters."

"Ugly Christmas sweaters! Great! We have to decorate the tree. There's a thousand things to do. It's going to be amazing, but most important thing, we're going to do it all together." he smiled warmly. "I love you guys."

"Love you, too."

"It's going to be the best Barton Christmas ever!"

A man walked up behind Clint. He turned. The man was older, in a chef's outfit. Considering they were at a restaurant, it seemed the owner had walked over. Clint's smile faltered. He suspected why.

"Dinner is on us. Thank you." he bowed.

Clint shook his head. "No, that's okay. It's really not necessary."

"It's necessary. You saved our city."

Sensing the battle was lost, he nodded reluctantly. "Oh. Thank you."

"Thank you." Lila chimed.

"Thank you, sir." Cooper added.

Nathaniel smiled up at him. "Thanks!"

Clint smiled uncomfortably.

Jazz music filled the air at the ball, as socialites mingled with one another. Kate stood off to the side, in an all black tuxedo, her long dark hair in a messy bun.

Eleanor and Jack waltzed to the music. Kate was happy to see her mom happy, sure, but not with Jack Duquesne. He was a sleazy, artificial douche with the depth of a puddle. She didn't trust him in the slightest—or most anyone besides her mom or the rest of the Eight—and couldn't understand how her smart, determined mom was falling for his act. 

An old man with white, thinning hair walked over. "Excuse me, my dear, could you—"

Kate looked over and shook her head. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm not a waitress."

He looked at her. "You're the little Bishop girl." He said it with breathless recognition, but not familiarity, as if he'd heard all about her.

She nodded slowly. "Yes, I am." 

Monster in disguise, maybe? Maybe, but she felt as if she'd seen him before. And he'd called her the Bishop girl, as if he knew her more by her family than her deeds in killing monsters—

"Armand. Armand Duquesne." he said, offering his hand.

Duquesne. Well. That was that question answered. She shook his hand, and smiled.

He looked like he was waiting for something. "You used to come to my brownstone for brunch?" he prompted.

She nodded vigorously. "Oh, build your own blintz bar!"

"Precisely." He looked over her, and clicked his tongue. "You know, it's unfair. I never looked that good in a tuxedo in my life. I'd appreciate it if you wear something a little more lady-like for the wedding, so we won't be competing."

She rolled her eyes. Lady-like…

Then the rest of his words sunk in. "Wait, what wedding?"

He looked surprised. "You don't know? Eleanor and Jack." he chuckled. "Oh! Those secretive little love birds!"

Hurt and shock surged through Kate.

Her anger must have shown on her face, because Armand nodded sympathetically, his eyes locked on the dancing couple. "Believe me, I've done everything in my power to talk him out of it. But when he gets something set in that little mind of his, he can be… quite determined."

She gritted her teeth. "Seems like he won the jackpot."

Armand eyed Kate. "You think so? So does he." He shrugged. "I'm not so sure." 

Kate didn't trust herself to speak.

Armand said, "So, how has the little Bishop girl been? You're majoring in—"

A little boy with sandy hair walked over and tugged Armand's sleeve. "Armand, I wanna go home. I'm bored."

Armand shook his head. "That's no way to talk, Armand. That's not the way you were brought up. Come and say hello to Miss Bishop."

Kate nodded once at him in greeting. "Hey. Another Armand, I see." her mind wasn't focused on the conversation in the slightest.

She clenched her jaw, steaming. How could her own mother, after everything they'd been through, conceal something like this from her?

But you've been hiding your own secrets, a little voice whispered in her head. Kronos… Gaea… your mother doesn't even know monsters hunt demigods.

Fine, so she hadn't been completely honest with her mom. That didn't mean… just because she… ugh!

Kate unknowingly twisted her face into a snarl, angered at herself, and at her mother.

The older Armand coughed. "Well, uh, I'm going make my excuses because it seems that you need to have a chat with your prize of a mother." He looked around for the boy, "Come on, Armand. Come on, boy!" 

He tried not to run as he herded Armand away from her.

Evidently, he'd been scared off by her expression, she realized.

Without even knowing it, Kate had been doing the wolf stare Percy had taught her, which was usually reserved for intimidating thugs during quests.

No wonder Armand had been in such a hurry. Kate rearranged her face in a rough approximation of a smile, and made her way to her mother through the crowd.

She walked behind Eleanor, and hissed, "You're engaged?" her voice was harsh and low.

Beside her mother, Jack chuckled. "Oh, well, I guess the beans are out of the bag."

Kate didn't acknowledge his existence.

Eleanor saw the betrayal and fury in her daughter's eyes, and looked over at Jack.

"Can we have a little moment?"

He nodded. "Oh, of course, it's almost time for my other engagement anyway." he waved at Kate, "Bye." and walked into the crowd.

Eleanor inhaled. "Babe, I'm sorry you found out this way."

"How should I have found out, hmm? Maybe you'd have offhandedly mentioned it once you'd remembered I existed?" she spat.

Eleanor sighed. "I didn't intend to hide it from you. I just… got swept up in the romance of it. Really. I wouldn't try to lie to you like that."

Against her will, Kate found her anger dissipating. Her gaze softened a bit. "I don't know, Mom, this is just like…"

"Fast?" she guessed.

She nodded. "Yeah, it's fast."

Eleanor smiled. "I know. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you in the way you deserved. But… is there a part of you that could be happy for me?"

Kate remembered how her mom had looked as she danced with Jack. She hadn't seen her look so happy before. "Yes. Yes, Mom, of course. Um, look, I'm going to go get some air."

Eleanor nodded. "I understand. Come back to find me, okay?"

Kate nodded, and melted into the crowd.

She leaned against the brick wall outside, rubbing her eyes. She wasn't cut out for dumb charity balls… 

Gods. Engaged. To Jack Duquesne. And she hadn't even told her.

Something whimpered at her.

Kat opened her eyes, and saw a golden retriever. He was dirty, kinda thin, and missing an eye. His fur was matted, his lone eye crusty with eye boogers.

In other words, he was adorable.

Kate cooed. "Heck of a party, huh?" she rubbed his soft head.

Then, the dog barked, and ran off.

She shrugged, and walked back inside, her shoulders hunched and hands stuffed inside her pockets. She opened the door, and walked past a hallway on her way to the party, before she heard voices echoing from that hallway, from a room at the end.

"I should've known that this empire of yours would be built on a lie." A scathing, old and high voice. Armand Duquesne III.

In reply: "By myself from the ground up. So whatever you think you saw is not true." That was… her mother.

Armand hissed, "Don't insult my intelligence."

She could almost hear Eleanor roll her eyes. "You're frankly insulting us both."

"I know what I saw."

"You are just—"

"Don't you try that on me." He snapped, curt. "I know all about that little trick. I gave you an opportunity to explain yourself."

"I don't want to argue with you." Eleanor said.

Armand sneered, "I've got powerful friends, too. The kind you don't want to mess with."

"Please!" Eleanor scoffed.

As he left, Armand muttered, "See you at Christmas dinner."

Eleanor sighed, and walked out of the room.

Right past Kate. 

Kate said suddenly, "Mom, what was that about? Is that guy threatening you?"

Eleanor jumped violently, and turned around. "Kate! Why are you lurking in the hallways?"

"I was outside getting air. But was he?" she asked.

Eleanor hesitated. "Honestly? I have no idea. Come back to the party."

She glanced at the door Armand had left through. "Um, yeah. Okay. I will."

Eleanor nodded, and walked away towards the party.

This man had the gall to threaten her mother, to act like some bossy prick?

Moving quietly, the way the Stoll brothers had once taught her, she slinked into the doorway, following Armand closely. He ducked past crowds, into hallways, and through a kitchen. She dogged his every step.

Finally, they were in a wine cellar. In the middle of the room, some rows of rich people, including Armand and Jack, all in chairs faced a slick-looking man behind a podium. An auction, maybe? Kate, and some other people, stood outside tall shelves of wine, with the auction on the other side.

A woman walked over and handed Kate a tray with champagne glasses on it. "Here. Gary wants you to bring these down, right away."

As many years of being a demigod had taught her, the best way to get into places you didn't belong is to simply act like you did. Most people wouldn't give you a second glance.

The tried and true method that had kept demigods alive for millennia: bullshitting.

She accepted the tray, and gave the woman a warm smile. "Thanks."

The auctioneer distinctly resembled Lindsey Graham, Kate thought. Kinda heavy, same grey hair—she shook her head. ADHD, distracting her.

He cleared his throat. "Ladies and gentlemen, please be seated, and we will begin."

Kate hid behind one of the wine shelves, peering at the auction out of sight.

She was also, not so coincidentally, situated right behind Armand and Jack.

Armand murmured to him, "I've reached my breaking point with your fiancée. Things are about to get very ugly."

Jack whispered out the corner of his mouth, "Why don't we leave Eleanor alone, you old goat?" His face was perfectly level as he said this, like a ventriloquist.

The auctioneer gestured grandly to a large triceratops skull next to him. "For our first item of the evening, we will be traveling back in time. We'll start the bidding for this magnificent skull at two million. Do I hear two million?"

He scanned the room, and nodded at a man who rose his sign. "Two-point-one, thank you so much, sir. Do I hear two-point-two?"

"Excuse me!" someone growled behind her.

Kate was startled, her heart pounding. She was instantly in fight or flight mode, but had the presence of mind to force herself not to bolt or start throwing punches.

A red haired guy, dressed in the same black tuxedo, glared at her suspiciously. "I was supposed to be the only one working here."

Kate took a deep breath, trying to calm down, and remembered the name she'd heard earlier. "Gary? Gary sent me to work here. So, unless maybe if you want to bother Gary…"

He scowled, and walked off.

Well, that was that problem taken care of.

"Two million seven, now two million eight. I've got two million seven right here, going once." The auctioneer looked around. "I've got two-point-seven going twice. Sold for two-point-seven million!"

There was some soft applause.

The auctioneer smiled. "Thank you. And I will remind you that this is for home display only. And you have no idea where you got it."

The guests chuckled, as Kate raised her eyebrows. Armand and Jack at an illegal auction?

"Who told you to come down here?"

Kate jumped again, and blood roared in her ears. Gods above, did everyone at this party get off on sneaking up on people? She was always so jumpy since everything with Kronos and—

She pushed those thoughts away, not in the mood for another flashback. She cleared her throat. "Um, Gary."

The man narrowed his eyes. He was bulkier than the other guy, with darker hair. "I'm Gary."

Oh, shit.

Kate was silent for a moment, then sighed and shook her head. Time to bullshit. "You see that's the problem, Gary, you don't even know my name."

Gary was utterly baffled, and Kate had to force herself no to laugh at his expression. "You know, uh, this is, this is not gonna work out. I quit."

"Wh—You can't quit. Hold on!"

He tried to stop her, but she vanished into the shadows. Demigod training.

He looked around wildly. "Where did she go?"

Meanwhile, outside, unbeknownst to Kate, a Russian gang was speaking in low tones just outside the auction.

In Russian, the leader ordered, "Come on, let's go. Move. Don't forget your positions."

Two of his underlings pressed themselves against the wall, guns at the ready, and nodded.

The guy on the left muttered, "Mine's on the left. Wish I was on the right, can't hear well out this ear…"

The other man nodded sympathetically. "Yeah. I'm sorry, bro."

The leader rolled his eyes. "Get ready."

Inside the room, the auctioneer grinned widely. "Up next, we have a very special piece. An artifact recovered from the wreckage of the Avengers compound."

This prompted a murmur through the crowd, who leaned forward.

He continued, "Now, you may recall the Ronin decimated the criminal underworld of the city, almost completely annihilating the status and power of the head of organized crime. The Ronin brought a brutal form of justice to his victims, and his identity continues to remain a mystery to this very day. Now you can own this one-of-a-kind retractable sword, composed out of a strange, unidentifiable metal. We'll start the bidding at two hundred thousand dollars."

As he spoke, a woman demonstrated the sword, pressing the switch and releasing the blade.

Kate's eyes bugged out of her head. That sword… she'd only seen the metal type on it once. Marbled like wood from a tree burl, grey steel and celestial bronze was morphed and snarled against itself, the swirls of metal giving it an unusual appearance. Kate could feel the dark aura emanating from the weapon, as though the metals were fighting each other, like if someone forged a sword out of repelling magnets.

She didn't like it, and not just because it brought back unpleasant memories. It was a sinister, ruthless weapon. Luke had a similar sword—Backbiter he had called it—before it had been melted down into Kronos's scythe, which had very nearly killed her during the final confrontation with Kronos. She remembered feeling her soul draining away, her identity, her name, killing who she was. If it hadn't been for her father Apollo and the rest of the gods arriving after Luke had died—

She'd been clenching her fist so hard, she'd drawn blood. It ran through her fingers, and dripped onto the floor. She hadn't noticed, until she opened her palm, and stared at her blood-tipped fingernails.

Well, I've already painted them red, she thought dryly, So at least the color doesn't clash.

She wiped the blood off on her black pants, ignoring the stinging pain.

The auctioneer asked, "Do I hear two hundred thousand? Two hundred thousand, bidder bidder, do I hear two hundred fifty thousand?"

Some millionaire from Connecticut raised his sign.

"Two hundred fifty thousand, thank you, sir. Do I hear three hundred thousand?"

To her surprise, Jack rose his sign.

The auctioneer nodded. "Three hundred thousand dollars, looking for three hundred fifty thousand."

Armand hissed, "What are you doing, you dope?"

"I'm buying that sword." He replied.

"You don't have three hundred grand!"

Jack looked him dead in the eyes. "No, but you do, don't you?"

Kate frowned. Why wouldn't someone as rich as Jack not have three hundred thousand dollars? And why was his relationship with Armand Duquesne III so antagonistic?

Armand rose his own sign, and the auctioneer smiled.

"Three hundred fifty thousand, right here in the front."

Jack raised the sign.

Armand glowered at him, but did nothing.

"Do we go to four hundred thousand?" The man asked.

Jack nodded.

"Let's go to four. Four, thank you so much." the auctioneer said.

From her place in the shadows, Kate heard muttering from outside, people with thick Russian accents. She glanced outside the window on the door.

One muttered, "Moving to two."

Another man nodded. "Okay, everybody ready?"

Kate sucked in a breath and pressed herself against the wall behind the door as two men in dark suits opened the door and walked in.

Meanwhile, the auctioneer was trying to lure in more bidders. "Come on, ladies and gentlemen! This sword belonged to the infamous Ronin."

Armand spat, "Four hundred seventy five."

Jack scowled, and leaned back, shaking his head.

"I've got four hundred seventy five thousand here, it's going once. Four hundred seventy five thousand is going twice…"

There were no other bids.

"Sold! For four hundred seventy five thousand dollars." The auctioneer smiled. "Up next, we have lot number 3-0-9. The companion piece, the Ronin suit—"

And then everything exploded.

Notes:Chapter title derived from Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree, written by Johnny Marks in 1958.

Chapter 4: Hark! The Emergency Sirens SingNotes:Merry Christmas! Enjoy this chapter, and have a good day!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter TextChapter Four: Hark! The Emergency Sirens Sing

Kate didn't remember the explosion itself, exactly, but remembered a noise like her eardrums detonating, and then remembered picking herself up off the floor.

Without even trying, her body immediately took stock of her injuries. As an Apollo kid, she knew exactly what was injured and how to fix it, but she hadn't inherited the healing powers her siblings like Will had.

Her nose was broken, and she'd dislocated her jaw. She'd bitten her tongue down hard enough to draw blood, and she was bruised all over. Blood ran down her face from a small cut on her forehead—which, like all head wounds, bled like a faucet.

In short, she looked like Hades. But by demigod standards, she was pretty much fine. She couldn't breathe through her nose, nor could she close her mouth all the way, and she tasted metallic red, but she could fight and still move unimpeded.

But her hearing was gone. For the moment, anyway; a high ringing had lodged itself in her ears and made understanding anything else impossible.

She watched as men silently streamed from the hole in the wall that the explosion had wrought, and calmly started loading everything into the truck they'd brought.

White dust hung in the air.

"…e're in here!"

"…elp!"

Slowly, Kate's hearing was returning, though all she could hear was coughing and pleas for help.

She staggered to her feet, and managed to stumble to a hiding place.

Armand yelled, "Do you know who I am!?"

Everything was disjointed, chaotic, weird… she was catching snippets of conversation…

Then, the sound of bullets snapped through the relative quiet.

That woke her up fast. Adrenaline rushed through her veins, and she jumped to her feet. She needed to get the mortals out of harm's way. But…

She couldn't let Jack find out who she really was. Not only did she not trust him, she was certain him learning her identity would eventually and inevitably cause her mortal life and demigod life to merge, and that was something she could not tolerate. But how to help everyone without getting ousted?

Then her eyes settled on the Ronin suit, cast aside in the explosion.

She yelled, "Quick, hurry! Everyone get out of here!" The black suit was a bit big for her, but it seemed to fit fine.

Without complaint, various people rushed past her into the exit. Nobody questioned who she was, nobody gasped, "You're the little Bishop girl!"

But for some reason, every criminal in the room (the Russian robbers, that is, not the rich billionaires at the auction) seemed to take personal offense to her suit. 

A burly, bald Russian dude in a tracksuit—stereotypical, much?—charged her barehanded. She sidestepped, and kicked off the nearest wine shelf, kicking him into a barrel. She broke a bottle of French 1977 Pinot Noir over his head, and he was out for the count.

"I see him! I see him, there!" A man yelled.

Kate leapt over a wine shelf and disappeared in the rafters, counting out how many criminals there were.

One gasped. "He disappeared!"

Another whimpered. "I'm telling you, it was the Ronin!"

A third guy shouted, "He's here somewhere, bro! Keep looking!"

Kate tried not to snicker. It was like she were John Wick or something, the Baba Yaga. The fear in their voices was palpable, and if their fighting skills were any indication, they knew they were no match for the Ronin. 

She didn't have the fighting skills of the Ronin—what she knew of his five year rampage told her that much—but she could stand against these two-bit gangsters pretty well.

One grabbed her ankle during her moment of introspection—she cursed herself—and brought her to the ground. She grunted in surprise, and kicked out of his grasp. She shoved her foot up the guys nose, who roared and stumbled back.

She clocked him in the nose, feeling a satisfying crunch, and kneed him in a place that made his yelp of pain unusually high pitched. She punched him in the eye and he went down.

She was feeling pretty good, before she heard something from the truck outside. 

A man was kicking a dog back, bellowing, "I'm gonna get you, you dumb dog!" It was dog she'd seen, her friend.

Blood roared in her ears, rage coursing through her. As the daughter of the god healing god, one who was particularly in-tune with nature, animal abuse went against every cell in her body, a personal affront to her existence.

She marched over, and threw the man off the dog. He looked annoyed, which quickly turned to anger. He threw a punch, but Kate caught it.

His anger morphed to surprise, and a trace of fear glinted in his eyes. She leapt and kicked him under the chin, forcing him to the ground. He tried to roll away, but Kate was faster.

She stomped on his fingers with all her weight, and he screeched as his fingers cracked and broke.

She rubbed her foot side to side, amplifying his agony. 

He made to reach for his gun, but she kicked it away with her other foot. She jumped up, and came down hard on both his kneecaps, one foot on each. He howled as she felt the wet snaps vibrate through her legs.

Tears streamed out of his blue eyes, and he switched from English to Russian as he begged, "Please! Ostanavlivat'sya! Mercy! Miloserdiye!"

Kate felt a primal, savage glee watching him writhe.

The dark joy she felt was like vengeance, vengeance for hurting the dog, for the explosion, for losing her friends, for being abandoned by her father, for watching her close friends die—

All at once, she realized what she was doing. She fell backwards on her butt, horrified and disgusted with herself. 

The man moaned in relief, crying softly. He didn't make any move for his gun, not that he would have even been able to hold it, much less fire it. He was slowly and desperately trying to get away from her by crawling with his elbows.

Horror flooded her. How could she have done this?

The man whimpered, "Please, don't hurt me. I'm so sorry. Please."

Her voice disintegrated like someone had hit it with a celestial bronze blade. She'd never felt so low and dishonourable, so unworthy of… anything.

She panted hard, and turned away running.

"You were right about the tree, Dad. It was amazing." Lila smiled up at Clint.

They were at their hotel room, near Rockefeller Center, Nathaniel pointed at the massive tree on their hotel TV. "I want one that big."

Cooper, his older brother, sighed. "It wouldn't fit in our house, dummy."

Nathaniel turned to his father. "Please, please, please?"

Clint laughed, "It's a little late for TV, guys. I've gotta pack."

Lila sighed, and changed the channel. 

"We are following a breaking news story. A high society gala rocked by an explosion when it went off at Park Avenue and 68th Street tonight."

Clint frowned, and looked at the TV.

"The cause of the explosion is still under investigation. But witnesses captured cell phone footage of a masked assailant fleeing the scene. A warning to our younger viewers: this footage contains graphic content."

Clint instinctively clasped his hands over Nathaniel's eyes. He protested, but Clint didn't move. Finally, Nathaniel huffed but didn't fight it.

It cut to a hooded person running out of an alley. Then, the person with the camera ran over to the alley, and revealed the prone, gasping body of a gangster, his kneecaps broken and his fingers distorted into deeply unnatural angles.

Clint's heart jumped into his throat. How could that suit still be around?! It had been destroyed in Thanos's attack on the Avengers Compound—

"…Authorities believe the assailant could be the Ronin…"

"Dad?" Lila asked.

"…who terrorized organized crime in New York and elsewhere…"

Cooper exchanged a worried glance with Lila that Clint missed.

"…this is the first potential sighting of the Ronin in years…"

A quote he'd once heard in long ago floated into his mind unbidden.

The past is never dead. It's not even past.

Kate didn't know where she was going, she was just running.

All she knew was that she needed to get away from that alley, as far as possible, get away.

She dropped off the dog at her apartment, and let out some food, before leaving, and running. Her mind wouldn't shut up, wouldn't stop feeding her horrible images—

She screamed, and kicked a chair that was next to her. Apparently, she was in some rich guy's apartment.

"This can't be happening, this can't be happening." She was hyperventilating. She was holding her head in her hands. "I can't deal with this, please—"

She let out a choked sob. She'd been crying, apparently. She hadn't even realized.

The scene kept replaying itself over and over again in her mind, becoming more and more exaggerated each time. Sometimes his eyes were bleeding, sometimes he had none, sometimes he was bending in unnatural positions in a desperate attempt to escape her—

Kate screamed again, punching her fist through a painting.

She shuddered, and carefully pulled her hand out. No injuries… unfortunately—

She shook her head violently. "Nope. Nope, nope, no. Not going there." She took deep, croaking breaths, trying to calm down.

She'd messed up. Big time. There was no denying that. But she couldn't let this overtake her. She couldn't. She couldn't.

She had no idea how long she stopped there, blood still pouring out of her forehead, still unable to close her mouth fully, before she felt good enough to continue moving. She was still in shock, still consumed with guilt and horror, but it had at least moved from the forefront of her mind to… everywhere else. At least now she could think.

Kate stood—she'd sat down?—and moved through the apartment. Maybe she could find the exit.

She froze.

There, lying on the carpet, was Armand Duquesne's dead body. He was facedown, blood coming out of a wound in his side. A sword wound, she knew instantly—she'd seen dozens.

Distantly, she half-expected to just fall apart at the body. She'd already been through so much tonight, and this would push her over the edge, right?

Instead, she drew in another breath, even calmer. This—this was familiar. Dead body, died of stabbing. This was something she'd grappled with before, in the Battle of Manhattan, the Battle of the Labyrinth… it was horrible, sure, but almost… comforting. She'd no experience with trauma that made her hate herself, but dealing with this, someone she knew taken from her with a sword… she could do this.

She left quickly and quietly.

Soon, she was walking past an alley, trying to get to her apartment—

Scaly claws emerged from the darkness, accompanied by hissing voices. "Where do you think you're going?"

She expected more Russian guys, but instead these were women, women who had green, scaly skin, with long snake trunks for legs.

Kate bared her teeth. "Dracaena."

One laughed. "We've got eyes everywhere, demigod… and now you shall die, paving the way for the mistress!"

It slashed at her with bronze claws, but Kate jumped back. She pulled out a celestial bronze knife from her boot. She always hid one there, no matter what.

She lunged forward, killing the first dracaena, which exploded into golden dust.

The other two kept their distance, eyeing her knife warily. Every time Kate darted forward, they ducked or sidestepped the attack.

Then, Kate got an idea. Maybe her father's domain extended to all flying projectiles?

She threw the dagger at the nearest dracaena. Its eyes widened, and it looked down at the knife hilt deep in its chest. It crumbled to dust.

A good trick, but now she was unarmed. Though the last dracaena was still immobile with shock, that wouldn't last.

The dracaena snarled, and Kate ran at her. But instead of attacking, like the monster expected, Kate shoved it out of the way and grabbed her celestial bronze blade from the pile of monster dust. She twirled around, and jammed the dagger deep into the monster's back.

It gasped, and Kate hissed in her ear, "Better luck next time." 

The monster's essence returned to Tartarus, and it crumbled to dust.

Kate leaned back against the brick wall and sighed heavily.

Then, a man grabbed her shoulder, and spun her around. She was so surprised, she instinctively dropped her knife. The man tore off her mask, and pulled back her hood, arm poised to punch her in the face.

She winced, bracing herself for the impact… which never came.

"Oh, come on!" The man complained.

She peeked an eye open, before they widened to the size of quarters. "You… you're Hawkeye!"

Clint Barton scowled at her. "And who the hell are you?"

Notes:Chapter title derived from Hark! The Herald Angels Sing, written by Charles Wesley in 1739.

Chapter 5: All I Want for Christmas Is to Meet HawkeyeNotes:Update schedule is now every 2-4 days. 3-4 is too long. I'm sure the rapid changes to my update schedule are quite irksome, and I apologize if so.

Anyway, that's the end of the first episode. This next episode is longer and has major changes from canon.

Enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter TextChapter Five: All I Want for Christmas Is to Meet Hawkeye

Kate couldn't believe it!

It was Hawkeye! The actual, living, breathing, Hawkeye! Right in front of her! The only mortal who could possibly understand what she'd been through, who could possibly help her deal with her shit…

"Who the hell are you?" he grunted.

"I'm… Kate Bishop." she managed, still a starstruck little girl.

He frowned in confusion. "But… you're just a kid! How did you get his suit?"

She was pretty sure she had presence of mind to scowl, but was still hyperventilating and panting.

He looked over her, analytical, and turned as sirens echoed from the mouth of the alley.

He sighed. "Look, we gotta get you outta here. It isn't safe for you to be wearing this. Do you live nearby?"

She nodded, barely.

He let go of her, and gestured for her to lead the way.

She pried herself off the wall, and left the alley.

Why wasn't it safe to wear this? Why was Clint Barton here?

She moved her thumb to glide over the pommel of her dagger, a reflexive and familiar way to calm herself, before she froze.

Clint frowned. "What is it?"

Crap. Crap, crap, crap! She'd dropped her knife in the alley. She certainly couldn't leave it—monsters attacked demigods as if it were going out of style.

But how to say, 'Oh, I forgot my magical, monster-killing dagger which you may or may not be able to see. One second'?

Kate stammered, "I forgot my… uh… purse?"

He paused, and said very slowly, "Your purse? I didn't see you with one."

Of course he didn't, because she never used nor owned a purse. With her ADHD, she'd forget it somewhere and never see it again, so she instead made sure to always purchase men's jeans with deep pockets.

She took a breath, trying to focus her mind. ADHD, always distracting her. "Um, it might have been in there. Maybe I brought it. I'll check."

He narrowed his eyes. 

Gods, she wasn't normally such a bad liar. But it had been a very, very turbulent night, and her nerves were frayed. With the dead body, and the poor man in the alley—

She forced those thoughts from her mind. "I'll just… go get it."

She jogged into the alley, feeling Clint's gaze boring into her back. He didn't believe her for a second, she was sure. She pretended to stumble over a rock, and both scooped up the celestial bronze knife and pocketed it in one smooth, discreet motion.

Obviously, walking around with an unsheathed knife in her pocket wasn't the best of ideas, but she doubted she could pull off the process of taking off her boot, sheathing the knife, and carefully storing it in the sole without arousing more suspicion than she already had.

Walking a little delicately, she strolled from the alley, full of absolutely faked confidence. 

"No purse?" Clint inquired. He was acting a bit formal, a bit stiff, as though she were at an interrogation. Evidently, she'd still garnered quite a bit of suspicion.

"Um, nope." she replied. "Must've left it at my apartment."

"Uh huh. We'll talk more there. Where'd you learn to fight?"

"I've been attending a summer camp since I was twelve." she said automatically. "They had martial arts and stuff." Not even technically a lie.

Experience had taught her the best lies were laced with truth.

"Twelve… so, you started about a year ago?" He asked.

She blinked, confused, before she realized it was a joke. "Oh. Hilarious."

He chuckled.

They arrived at her apartment building. Unconsciously, Kate turned around, looking around the street, and scanned the entrance.

She opened the door, and Clint swiveled his head, looking down the hallways.

Kate oohed. "That's how you operate? You're just constantly looking for things that are suspicious or weird? Sounds exhausting."

He gave her a strange look. "You just did the same thing. Is it exhausting? You tell me."

Kate was silent. She hadn't even noticed her doing that. Was it exhausting?

Yeah. Yeah, it was.

They continued on to her apartment.

She opened the door to the apartment, letting him walk in. He glanced at the clothes strewn about the floor and the dirty dishes in the sink.

She coughed, and ushered him in.

A dog walked over and started licking Clint's hand. He rubbed its ears, and remarked, "Some guard dog you've got there."

She turned. "Oh, well… yeah." She had a round face, with untidy black hair, long eyelashes and pale skin. She seemed pretty awkward, mildly starstruck. He got the sense, though, she was usually more sure of herself, more confident.

He would have expected her to be… different, to say the least. Anyone who could do that to a man, even a criminal, would have to be sadistic, evil… right?

And yet she wasn't Hannibal Lecter in college student form, didn't seem unable to feel emotions—if anything, he thought, she seemed to feel them more strongly than most—and she didn't seem malicious…

Nevertheless, he was sure she was hiding something. He'd seen her quietly swipe something from the alley, though he couldn't make out what, and there was a certain… performative air to her actions—as if she were trying to exercise very deliberate control over herself, trying to hold her cards close to her chest.

He didn't say any of this, of course. "Nice place for a kid." he said.

The girl—Kate Bishop, did she say her name was?—nodded distractedly. "Yeah, I inherited it."

"What are you, 18?"

She scowled. "I'm 22."

He waved a hand dismissively. "18, 22, same thing. So, wanna get that vest off, so I can get going?"

"Sheesh. Fine." she seemed miffed he was so eager to be rid of her.

Yeah, because sorting through the fallout of his, ah, grieving process after the Snap sounded like a muchbetter idea than spending time with the family he'd just gotten back.

When she returned, wearing black jeans and a purple long-sleeve shirt, Clint asked, "Where'd you get the suit?"

"Black market auction." she said.

His eyes widened. "And you bought it?"

She frowned. "No! There was an explosion, it was thrown clear, and I wanted to hide my identity as I helped everyone, so… I put it on."

"That suit made a lot of enemies. Those guys out there, the Tracksuit Mafia—"

Kate blinked. "That's their name?"

Clint sighed. "I didn't make it."

"Well… it's a really dumb name."

He rolled his eyes. "Look, what did you do in the suit?"

She cringed, like he'd brought up a sensitive topic. "N-nothing much. Some, uh, fighting. Maybe broke into a rich guy's apartment. Um, he was dead. I didn't kill him."

He shook his head. "Jesus. Shouldn't you, I don't know, be in school?"

"Got kicked out." she said breezily.

"Can't imagine why." he muttered. 

She scratched her head. "So, if you're finished with your questions, may I ask mine?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Okay…"

She thrust out her bow. "Can you sign this?"

He stared, and she blushed. "What? You're, like, a celebrity and shit. It's the norm to ask a celebrity to sign something, right? I mean, you're kind of my favorite Avenger."

Clint wasn't really sure what to say to that. "Um… are you okay, by the way?"

She leaned forward as if she didn't hear the question. "Hmm? Uh… oh!"

It seemed to click in her mind that he was asking if she was alright. She snorted. "Trust me, I'm fine.Some bruises, bit my tongue, cut my forehead, dislocated my jaw… oh! That reminds me!"

She jumped up, and started rummaging around in the drawers of her kitchen, but Clint wasn't paying much attention to that.

The way she'd casually rattled off her injuries, with surety in their accuracy and not a thought for how unusual it might have been for someone to be so accustomed to pain—it was odd. She was definitely hiding something—

She pulled a thin cardboard box, and pulled out… blue latex gloves? She handed a pair to him and gestured for him to put them on.

Clint blinked. "Um, what's happening?"

"My jaw's dislocated. I want you to pop it back into place."

He rubbed his ear. "I'm sorry, I think I misheard you. You want me to…"

"Pop my jaw back into place." her face was completely straight, not a trace of levity in her expression.

"Uh…" Clint had no idea what was going on. "Like… you mean—"

"I'd do it myself, but it's generally better not to put dislocations back yourself. So, put on some latex gloves, and follow my instructions." she said.

He wasn't really sure why, but he found himself obeying her. She had a confident, experienced ease about her, like a battlefield medic or general or something. It was far beyond her age, and it simultaneously calmed and unnerved him.

"Okay, so, put on the gloves. Then, place your thumbs against the lower back teeth of my mouth. After that—"

"Whoa, what? I'm not sticking my fingers in your mouth!" he shouted.

She rolled her eyes. "We could go to the ER, cost me a bunch of money and time, and draw unwanted attention to ourselves. Or, you could put on the gloves, suck it up, and be done with this whole thing in less than a minute."

Clint gave her the stink eye, but snapped the gloves onto his hands. "Fine. What were you saying?"

She nodded. "I don't like this any more than you do. So, put your thumbs against my lower molars, okay?" she opened her mouth wide.

Fighting down a wave of nausea, he did as she asked. "Now what?"

Her speech came out slurred against his fingers. "Now, playsh the resh of yer fingers under may jaw."

He winced. "Then?"

"Grip it shteady, and push it back into playsh." she garbled.

He mentally counted down from three… and shifted her jaw firmly.

She reared away from him, and let loose an intricate thread—a tapestry, really—of vibrant, colorful swear words, occasionally weaving into a language he didn't recognize, before concluding and breathing hard, rubbing her jaw tenderly.

Clint walked over to the sink and carefully took off and threw away the blue latex gloves, dripping with Kate's saliva.

He washed his hands, thoroughly. "Are you all right?" He asked.

She grunted, still gauging her jaw. "Shit, that hurt. Yeah, I'm fine… wish I had a Barton bandage, though."

He started. "A what?"

She paused, then snickered. "A Barton bandage. Heh, that's funny. You've probably seen them in movies and stuff. They're head bandages, gauze? They go over your head, vertically along your face, and around your forehead? Like this?"

She pantomimed a line encircling her face, from the bottom of her chin to the top of her forehead, unintentionally making the ASL sign for face. "They're called Barton bandages. Stabilize your jaw after a fracture or dislocation. I don't have one, though, so I just can't do any extreme motions with my jaw for several days, maybe a week."

He stared. "Are you a med student?"

She snorted. "As if. No, I'm majoring in—"

"Then how do you know all this stuff?"

A shadow darkened her features. "That's a long story. One I'm not getting into." Her tone brokered no room for discussion.

He narrowed his eyes. What on Earth did that mean? "What—"

"Hey, Kate Bishop!" From the window, a man shouted outside the apartment. He had a thick Russian accent.

The blood drained out of her face.

Clint whirled on her. "Other than the apartment you broke into, did you stop anywhere before I met you?"

She closed her eyes. "I stopped here to drop off the dog…" she whispered. "…and my name's on the buzzer."

He grabbed her, and pulled her down to the floor. "Get down!" 

Not a moment too soon, because a Molotov cocktail suddenly shattered through the window, splattering liquid fire everywhere.

…But there was something wrong.

The fire was hard for Clint to look at, like something were compelling him to ignore it, and he found himself abruptly forgetting and remembering details about it. What color were the flames? Green? Orange? How did it get in the room? Was it thrown? Was there a mishap with the stove? 

Kate especially seemed horrified and stunned by the fire—a sort of horror that went beyond, Oh my God, my home is on fire! It was recognition, he thought. Clint wasn't sure how he knew, but he was absolutely positive she knew why he couldn't quite comprehend the fire.

Who was this girl?

Notes:Chapter title derived from All I Want for Christmas Is You, written by Mariah Carey and Walter Afanasieff in 1994.

Chapter 6: Let it Burn! Let it Burn! Let it Burn!Notes:(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter TextChapter Six: Let it Burn! Let it Burn! Let it Burn!

It was Greek fire.

Somehow, these mortals had gotten their hands on one of the most dangerous magical substances in the world.

Oh my gods, oh my gods, oh my gods! But how—?

Kate forced herself to slow down. Panicking would do no good. But Styx…

She looked around her apartment, and watched tendrils of eerie green flames crawl up the walls, spreading like, well, wildfire. Her hard-earned, meaningless medals were becoming just straight-up metals, and her few valuables were becoming charred ash.

A picture of Leo, Piper, and Jason, arms draped around one another, smiling widely at the camerawoman—Kate herself—fluttered from the second floor of her apartment, landing beside her foot. Green lines of flame slowly consumed their way up the picture, the last photograph of Jason, Piper, and Leo taken before they were Snapped.

Clint grabbed her shoulders. "We need to get out of here!"

She tore her stinging eyes from the photo that had saved her from herself in her darkest moments.

She had no idea what Clint was seeing through the Mist, and it was clear he didn't understand exactly what was happening. Nevertheless, he was still focused on one thing: saving lives.

She needed to be, too.

Another canister of Greek fire broke through the window, and the heat became searing. Her home was melting and burning before her very eyes.

Cruel laughter echoed from the streets. Mortal thugs, but it was also laced with… something else. Kate heard ugly, barking laughter from below, laughter that could not come from any human throat.

But a monster's throat, on the other hand…

Kate felt almost as green as the Greek fire. Separation between her demigod life and mortal life; that was the cornerstone to her mental state, which was already only held together with duct tape and a whole lotta hope.

If there were monsters down there, working with the mortals… well, monsters were unorganized and lazy. They didn't spontaneously decide to start acting cohesively with a common goal, unless a bigger threat convinced them to.

If they were down there, it was proof her life was about to become a lot more complicated than it already was. It was proof that some kind of threat was here to cause trouble. It was proof that…

Well, it was proof that the wall between her lives would be coming down, sooner or later. 

Ever so slowly, she peeked her head out from behind her drawer—her cover. She peered through the massive window, and let out a strangled gasp.

Among the Tracksuits, seven foot tall monsters cackled, throwing Greek fire canisters. They had dark fur, with a fierce dog-like face, and sleek, rubbery skin, like a seal. Their eyes glowed red, and they had stubby claws that would be able to grasp her head like a walnut.

Telekhines. 

Gods damn it.

Clint roughly pulled her out of their line of sight. "Are you crazy? You'll get yourself killed! We need to get out of here! Do you have a fire escape?"

She nodded miserably, and grabbed her bow. She shouldered it, and gestured for the dog to come over. He did, whimpering fearfully.

She hugged him, and stroked his fur. She needed a hug, right now. "It's okay, boy. We'll get out of here."

Clint nodded. "Grab the dog, and let's go."

Kate asked, "Wait, what about the suit?" 

It was draped over the chair she'd left it on, wreathed in flame. It wasn't melting or burning, which made Kate half-wonder if the Ronin had gotten Leo to hook him up with some fireproof leather. Either way, Kate couldn't see any way to get it without burning her hand like the German dude in Raiders of the Lost Ark.

Clint hesitated. "Leave it. We'll come back for it."

She nodded, and the three of them—Kate, Clint, and the dog—began making their way down the fire escape. It was the first time, Kate realized, that she was using a fire escape for its intended purpose.

They made their way away from the monsters and Tracksuits, out of sight. Once they were also out of earshot, Clint sighed heavily. "We need some supplies."

Kate nodded. "You have like, an Avengers safehouse around here?"

"I'm Lindana, and I wanna have fun!"

"I'm Lindana, and I wanna have fun fun fun!"

Some one-hit wonder echoed from the speakers around the store. It was a cheesy pop song that sounded like a million other songs, but it was a break from the incessant Christmas carols, Kate thought.

She scowled. "Not going to lie, this is kind of underwhelming."

Clint said, "Sorry to disappoint. It's not all fun and glamor."

Her voice was tinged with bitterness. "I'm aware."

He glanced at her. Clearly, he meant to ask her about herself, to try to figure her out.

Instead, he pointed. "Wanna grab some of that rubbing alcohol down there? Lower shelf."

Hmph. Maybe she was paranoid.

Or maybe he was waiting until they were in a safe place, she thought.

She held up a bottle. "Way ahead of you."

He quirked an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Kate asked, "I'm guessing we go to your safehouse, now?"

Clint didn't respond, and instead wordlessly paid for the supplies.

She sighed. "Fine, I'll take your silence as a no. Lucky for you, I know a place."

He finished, and the two of them walked out of the store. Kate raised her hand, and hailed a taxi.

Clint got in and asked, "Where are we going?"

Kate said, "East 104th and 1st, Upper East Side."

The cabbie nodded, and they drove off.

Kate plunged a hand into her pocket, and pulled out a small key. She opened the door to the apartment.

The two stepped in, and she said, "Okay, not exactly Fort Knox, but it'll do, right?"

Clint looked around. It was a bit cramped, with a small TV, and reasonable decor. The faint smell of alcohol and cigars lingered. It was still certainly homely, though. "Where are we?"

"My friend used to live here, with his mom and stepfather. They moved away just under ten years ago, though, but kept this place. Now, they're about ten minutes away." She said.

"Would they be okay with us being here?" Clint asked cautiously.

Kate snorted. "Definitely. It's the entire reason they didn't sell this place; so that d—um, so that people in need could use it as a shelter."

"Mmm." Clint grunted. "Very generous."

Kate shifted her weight. "Yeah, well… Sally Jackson—my friend's mom—is as close as people get to being angels. She's awesome."

Clint didn't understand why she was so cagey about her past, but it was clear she'd been seriously affected by whatever happened. He was beginning to understand the jagged look of trauma in her eyes—he saw it every time he looked into the mirror.

He handed her the rubbing alcohol, bandages, and soap. "Here. I need you to clean your wounds. Use this. Use soap, this and disinfect it."

She nodded firmly. "Okay. Then what?"

"Well, I'm going back to your apartment to get that suit. And then I'm going back to my kids." He said. He would be able to spend Christmas with his family, and be done with this whole mess.

Kate rolled her eyes. "Oh, yes, Clint, you may enter my apartment. Thank you for asking. Don't you need my keys?"

He shook his head. "Nope. I'm good. Stay here. Lock this door."

She grumbled, but closed the door behind him.

So, Clint made his way back to the apartment, deep in thought. He was a professional—he could figure this out. What did he know?

He knew that Kate was unusually good at martial arts, fencing, archery, and acrobatics. The medals and trophies he'd seen in her apartment proved that much. She'd also mentioned a summer camp had taught her what she knew.

He also knew that she had deep first-aid knowledge. She'd immediately known she'd dislocated her jaw, and knew exactly why and how to fix it.

She wasn't alone in whatever she'd been through, he had to guess, based on what she'd said about her friend's mom. She'd been affected by her past, and refused to talk about it or open up about it.

If he had to guess, he would suppose that she were an escaped Black Widow. It would explain the combat skills, the trauma, and the implication of others. Her gender and age aligned with that theory.

And yet, some part of him doubted it. He'd worked and been friends with a Widow for much of his adult life, observed the tics in her fighting style, the signature to her kicks and punches. Natasha Romanoff, and indeed all Black Widows, were trained to make use of their entire body as a weapon, from their feet to their head, even their hair, as Nat had once told him.

The Widow fighting style incorporated leaps, and kicks, and twirls, and all kinds of full body movements, to ensure the entire Widow was literallya weapon. 

Kate's fighting style was nothing like that.

She fought with quick, reactionary strikes, supplemented with dodges, rolls, ducks, and other evasive maneuvers. There weren't flashy roundhouse kicks, leaps and lunges, it was more subdued self defense. Kate's system was primed towards wearing down mobile, hard-hitting opponents. 

A Widow fought like an assassin—made for maximum damage output for any kind of opponent. Kate fought like, well, like Kate—sharp, controlled attacks designed to end a fast-paced fight as soon as possible.

He hadn't seen that kind of fighting before, and definitely not among Widows. He was certain Kate usually fought with some kind of weapon along with her martial arts—there was no way her more tempered fighting style alone could defeat… whatever quick, hard-hitting opponents she normally fought.

Kate was also too well integrated into normal life to be a Widow. Most Black Widows would be either incredibly blunt and honest when interacting with someone—a consequence of not having had a social childhood—or inscrutably charismatic, effortlessly able to make allies without offering any information about themselves—a consequence of spy training to allay suspicion and make contacts.

Kate was neither—she was trying to keep personal information to a minimum, he could tell, but he still knew more than nothing about her. She also wasn't super charming, obviously.

No, whatever she was hiding, it wasn't a past in the Red Room.

He frowned. If it wasn't that… what was she hiding? He didn't know, which made him nervous.

"Sir, I'm afraid you need to step back."

Clint looked up. A firefighter was holding his palms out, backing him away. He'd reached Kate's apartment—what was left of it, anyway. A black, burned out shell, it was hardly fit for human habitation anymore.

Clint nodded, walking off. "Sorry…"

The firefighter nodded and drifted away.

As soon as nobody was looking at him, Clint approached the fire truck, and picked up a hard hat off the metal platform, and a spare coat from inside. He glanced at a small bumper sticker on the window: New York City LARPers.

He whistled, and shrugged the clothes on, before walking into the apartment.

As he walked past the firefighters, he caught snippets of conversation.

"Yeah, Captain wants to keep everybody back. Hasn't seen something burn like this before… I haven't either."

The firefighter he was speaking to, a woman with a weak Southern drawl, said, "Me neither. It got too hot, too fast, with no trace of accelerant. It didn't even burn outside the apartment, at all, as if it only wanted to burn this place…"

The other guy laughed uncomfortably. "Well, that's ridiculous, isn't it? Fires don't consciously decide where to burn…"

She nodded. "Yeah, yeah, that's absurd."

They both seemed to be trying to convince themselves.

Clint carefully squeezed past them, and emerged into the living room. It was hollow and charred, everything blackened and cracked.

And draped on the remains of the chair, next to the table… was absolutely nothing.

His blood ran cold. Where was it!? 

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. Only he and Kate knew about the suit. Obviously, he hadn't taken it, and Kate was at the Jackson apartment, so… 

He opened his eyes.

One of the firefighters must have stolen it.

"O Iris, Goddess of the rainbow, show me Annabeth Chase."

Kate Bishop tossed a golden drachma into the rainbow she'd made in the kitchen sink, which vanished. The rainbow shimmered, and revealed the image of Annabeth Chase… making out with Percy Jackson.

Kate turned bright red, and went to swipe away the connection, but Annabeth noticed Kate out the corner of her eye.

Immediately, Annabeth shoved Percy back, who landed hard on the bedroom floor with a loud thump.

He groaned loudly out of sight. "Ow…" He must have looked up and seen the Iris Message. "Oh, hi, Kate. Um… what's up?"

Kate's face was on fire. "Um, if now's not a good time—"

"It's not!" Percy called from the floor, but Annabeth kicked him, and he groaned again. "Never mind! Take all the time you need!"

Annabeth sighed, "What's going on, Kate?"

"Um, alright. Look, it's… it's a little serious, but it might not mean what I think it does." She mumbled.

Percy got up from the floor and sat on the bed beside Annabeth, putting on a shirt. "What does 'a little serious' mean?" He asked.

Kate was glad she'd called then instead of a few minutes later. "Nothing much, except… well, I saw some telekhines."

Annabeth tilted her head. "It's a little unusual for them to be so far from any of Hephaestus's forges, but it's not any cause for alarm."

"It's not just the telekhines… it's the company they were keeping. They were working with mortal thugs. A gang called the Tracksuits." she said.

A silence.

Percy blurted, "The Tracksuits? Seriously?"

Annabeth sighed, "Seaweed Brain—"

"Were they Russian, too?" he asked.

Kate nodded. "They were."

He snickered. "Gods—"

Annabeth snapped, "Can we please focus on the issue at hand? I've never heard of mortals and monsters working together like that…"

Percy and Kate exchanged glances. "We have." He said.

"When you were kidnapped by Atlas," Kate said, "Atlas was fond of hiring mortals. He hired them to steal tyrannosaurus teeth to make spartoi, but they accidentally brought him saber toothed tiger teeth and made—"

"Small Bob." Percy said.

The mood of the room darkened. Percy and Annabeth rarely spoke of their time in Tartarus, but had slowly given the other seven the story; about how Bob the Titan, Damasen the Giant, and Small Bob saved their lives, buying them time to escape the pit.

Kate said slowly, "If the last time mortals and monsters worked together was during the Titan War—"

"Then something is making them work together again." Annabeth realized.

Kate swallowed thickly and nodded.

Percy leaned back on the bed. "Well, shit."

Notes:Chapter title derived from Let it Snow! Let it Snow! Let it Snow! written by Sammy Cahn and Jule Styne in 1945.