Kate was good to me. And while those halcyon days lasted, they were perfect. I knew I would reflect on them fondly in the years to come.

Packing my life into a suitcase again reawakened a repertoire of repressed memories within me and feelings long forgotten. It felt like dismantling everything I'd achieved and starting over, for the fourth, and what I hoped was final, time. And there was a limit to how much I could cram into one feeble case.

I bothered folding things into meticulous squares in order to squeeze more of my possessions into the limited space. Beside my clothes, I packed my bow and arrows: withering, chipped and gnarly with their age - but still trusty like an old galleon. Pictures were another thing: in the period Kate and I had spent together, we had catalogued the moments and frozen them in time in frames; new and old photos of us alike were deposited in the case. More memories in the form of trinkets and keepsakes were squashed in too: house keys for the apartment, a deck of cards from our poker games and my favourite mug. I suspected this was what a kid going off to college felt like; but bankrupt and on the run from the law, I had no such comfort awaiting me.

My carnival costume went in last, with patches stitched on in places, holes sewn shut and decoration threaded on; all Kate's touch; a dab-hand at something that required such manual finesse. I zipped the case with a satisfying sound and I turned to face my childhood best friend, now on the brink of adulthood. The years had flown fast.

Kate had been quietly sniffling the whole time, watching as I removed all evidence of my presence from her apartment.

There were no words that could give her true consolation or make real reparation. Actions speak louder than words, or so they say. So I hugged her close and let her cry it out on me; and myself, I shed a few tears.

Outside, inclement weather was wracking the building. The window that overlooked the city was being bombarded by a barrage of rain, and torrents of rivulets rolled down the glass; distorting the view until it was a blur of colour and light.

The sound was immense, like a chorus of snare drums being drum-rolled. It was a sound that had been absent for so long and it felt like a caress to the ears. It was a dismal soundtrack, but it was tranquil in its own way.

"I love you, Kate," I told her in no uncertain terms and tried to stifle my sobbing by biting my bottom lip. She was perhaps the one person on the face of the earth I felt comfortable saying that to. But don't get me wrong; what I felt for Kate wasn't romantic, it was fraternal.

"I love you too, Clint," she replied, her words distorted somewhat by her crying.

I held her for an eternity, my chin perched on the top of her head, tucking her to my chest. I wanted to remember that moment, to commit every detail for memory; the sound of the rain, the smell of her Jimmy Choo! Perfume, the silky sensation of her hair as I combed my fingers through it. I wanted to be able to relive it when I was no longer there.

Breaking apart from her felt like losing a part of myself, but she walked me down to the street in silence. She didn't want to guilt trip me, I suppose; it made it easier and for that, I was thankful.

She carried Lucky in her arms, bringing him just to say goodbye.

I was sopping wet the second I stepped out the door into the torrential downpour. I stood at the side of the road in the pouring rain, my sneakers with the gaping soles letting in the water from the puddles that drowned the sidewalk. Drains had already overflowed, like busted river banks.

"Where now?" Kate asked, huddling close to me like a penguin in a snowstorm.

She needn't ask much more, as at that precise moment, a black armoured Chevrolet pulled up at the side of the road; chunky tires carving apart the water on the road with a colossal splash.

The tinted window rolled down on the black car and Phil Coulson was grinning at me. "Clint Barton?" He intoned like we'd never been introduced.

"What have you got yourself into?" Kate hissed to me, looking miffed as the rain melted her makeup into a landslide of colours and flattened her hair into a straggly damp mess.

"Don't worry about me. I'll call..." I said quietly, taking her hand as reassurance. "Phil Coulson?" I replied and he nodded.

Someone left the passenger side and took the suitcase I was lugging off of my hands.

"Climb aboard, sailor," Phil quipped, and I did look as drenched and dishevelled as a deep sea sailor.

"You'll look after him, won't you, Mister Coulson?" Kate piped up from behind me, mindlessly rocking the dog in her arms to hush his depressed whimpers.

"On the contrary, Miss Bishop, I'm certain that Clint can look after himself just fine..." Kate was bemused at how he knew her name. "My deepest condolences for your loss," Coulson added as an afterthought.

"Which one?" Kate asked, looking to me.

Coulson's mouth snapped shut, and he bowed his head.

"Is the puppy coming, Clint?" He asked, eyeing the whining dog, soaked through and beginning to pong.

"'Fraid not, sir... I have to make sure that Kate keeps good company," I said, half as a joke, half as the truth. And I walked back over to Kate and Lucky for a final time. "Papa's going now," I said to the dog, ruffling it's head and scratching it behind it's ears. The dog mewled, almost as if it understood. "Kate's gonna take real good care of you. Okay? I'll come visit... I promise... Bye bye, my little pup..." I kissed him on the head for good measure. "Goodbye, Kate," I said solemnly, my tears mingling with the rain; I was grateful for the weather - it makes my regret to an extent.

"Goodbye, Clint," she said, and it really did feel like goodbye forever; and truth told, I never knew if and when I was going to see her again.

I kissed her on either cheek, then on the forehead before entering the car. I waved through the open window, and then we pulled away; the window winding up.

"That was brave of you," Coulson remarked. "I know how hard goodbyes can be..." He said quietly, and I felt like there may have been a story behind his words. "Seatbelt," he prompted and we revved away into the streets.

I held my peace for the most part of the journey. I spent my time gazing out the window, counting the raindrops racing down the glass and wondering if the sky felt the same way I did; it sure looked like it.

We drove for hours on end, leaving the recesses of New York City and venturing into the more rural region upstate. I watched grey become green and it felt like leaving Iowa in reverse. I felt a little closer to home. After a couple hours we reached a cluster of concrete buildings; in the middle of nowhere.

"Where are we?" I intoned, perking up a little and dabbing the tears from my eyes.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy..." Coulson informed me as the car pulled to a halt; the breaks screeching as we crunched onto the gravel drive. The engine growled as we moved into neutral and then sighed as it turned off.

Under the dark grey skies, flapping in the wind and slanted rain were two flags; the star spangled banner, and one denoting the organisation; the same symbol engraved into Coulson's cufflinks.

"Are you going to get out?" Phil asked from beside me, vying for my attention with a fatherly hand on the shoulder - a thought I fast nudged aside. "This is your new home."

The buildings weren't as dingy or derelict looking as the orphanage, but they certainly didn't have much character: pillars of concrete, with harsh utilitarian lines and squared corners. It was a little slice of New York City, way out in the countryside; grey stone, large glass panels passed off as windows and metal railings.

I slipped out of the vehicle with apprehension, the gravel crunching beneath my sneakers, consumed in the shadow of the post-war monstrosity. Behind me, another suited agent, the one I'm sure was driving, dragged my luggage up and handed me the handle.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Phil reassured me, clearly having noticed how sheepish and silent I'd become. "Trust me?" Those two words came out more as a request than a demand; and somehow, that made Coulson far more trustworthy. "Nick is waiting for us inside."

We strolled up towards the nearest looming building together, graduating the steps that lead up to a well-lit reception. Few loitered and the place seemed spiritless; the walls were just as plain on the inside as on the outside.

Coulson made his way over to the reception booth, his shoes clicking on the ground eerily, echoing around the cavernous space. I caught passing snippets of his conversation, the hiss of his 's's and the pops of his 'p's and 't's.

I was caught listlessly staring at a couple photos hanging on the wall when Nick arrived; sepia as of when they were taken, not just discolouring with age. I had been so emotionally exhausted and spaced out by the scenery change that I hadn't noticed the plod of his footfalls or the whisper of his leather coat - which was seemingly a permanent feature of his uniform.

"Howard Stark and Peggy Carter," his unmistakable voice informed me, snapping me out of my lethargic catatonia.

"Who, sorry?" I asked him to repeat it, taking in the faces and matching them to the names.

"And here's me thinking your hearing was fixed!" Nick teased an I dignified him with a meek laugh, the man was daunting to say the least.

"Thank you," I squeaked modestly. "I didn't know how much of the world I was missing until I had it."

"My pleasure, Clint..." Nick bowed his head to me, a mark of mutual respect. "In answer to your question: Howard Stark and Peggy Carter; founders of S.H.I.E.L.D - you've probably heard of Howard, CEO of Stark Enterprises up until recently, god rest his soul. His partner Obadiah Stane is holding his company until his reckless son, Tony, comes of age to possess the business - but Howard was a weapons genius in World War Two, Blitzkrieg, you name it; he was involved... Co-founder of S.H.I.E.L.D."

"He put together the Vita Ray machine to initiate the super-soldier serum Erskine devised to make Captain America... Well... Captain America," Phil added, having careered to my side.

"And the woman?" I asked, feeling somewhat ashamed I hadn't seen her around.

"Peggy Carter; one of the few female military personnel who were a success story during the war. She graduated to ranks higher than many men could've hoped. Founder of S.H.I.E.L.D, and she groomed me personally to be her successor as director of the agency." Fury's gaze when wistful, and I could've sworn he bowed his head like he was addressing a queen.

"And Captain America's girlfriend..." Phil added, like my own Steve Rogers tour guide, leaning into me fraternally.

"Moving on..." Fury grumbled sternly and gestured for me to walk onwards. 

We departed from the atrium, and entered a courtyard. Within the dingy grey courtyard with its concrete buildings and concrete pavement - intermittently broken up by sprigs of grass creeping between the slabs - were people. Uniformed, a splash of black against the grey sky, and stamped with a crest. They all wore pessimistic looks on their face, and there was a sternness in their stride. 

I noted the holsters buckled to their hips: many openly carrying. The uniform was comprised of standard issue cargo pants, combat boots and a jacket. It was military. And just as straight laced as the military too. Something told me there was no place for my aesthetically pleasing carnival attire here. 

The place was ominous, looming buildings that cast sinister shadows, blank and uniformed as the people. I wasn't sure if it was the rain and the broth of grey clouds that made it seem gloomy, but the place seemed wiped of spirit. Humourless. 

"Tell me what you're thinking, Clint," Fury demanded, raising his voice to be heard over the distant crack of thunder, the rattling of the rain, and the troop jogging by; stomping through puddles. "You're silent for the first time..."

What I wanted to tell him was that a military academy was no place for me. I was a runaway. A carnie. A vagabond vigilante. This place was going to eat me up, chew me up, and then spit me out worse for wear. Surely he must've known that before he enrolled me. "I'm thinking I've strayed far from the beaten path."

"Not an unusual reaction," Fury promised me, humming thoughtfully. "S'pose it's a bit of a change from the bright lights and the colours of the circus."

"You can certainly say that again..." I breathed. 

We made our way back into a building across the courtyard, leaving mucky boot prints on the linoleum flooring. Nick Fury called out to a young brunette and waved her over.

"Hill! Here, now, please! I've got someone I'd like to introduce you to!" 

A/N - Oh my god, my new school is draining meeee... AS Levels is on a whole other level. I'm dropping 'Philosophy & Ethics' already; it's far too religious for me (I thought philosophy was going to be about Aristotle and Plato, but noooope. "Philosophy of religion"). I'm an atheist, and lets just say it's a Church of England school and I felt like a fish out of water. Psychology is the way forwards. And I can sit and laugh about how fucked up Freud was. 

Sorry this is so late; I actually had to write this today - I'm officially out of pre-written material.

Shout out to Chrissiedooo for making a trailer for this book! You can watch it at: https://prezi.com/hj7h4olep4uy/budapest-clintasha/

Dedication when I can be arsed. x