February 26, 1986

Wood creaked beneath Clint as he pulled himself on top of a crate. The wood was stained brown like the dirt around him, circling the ring in the main circus tent. He sat there for a moment, cross-legged, barely listening to the conversation happening around him.

"I'd think he would know what he's doing. Years in this type of industry and yet Carson still acts like a complete airhead at times," Annie was saying. She leaned back and rubbed her temples.

Clint snapped out of his thoughts and glanced at her, snorting. "Oh please! As long as he makes some cash - he's not complaining."

"Still, I miss the days when he seemed to care."

"Did he ever?" Clint asked genuinely. "Wake up call: I don't think he did, Ann."

She laughed - a sound of happiness erupting from her throat that warmed Clint's heart. He loved hearing proof of his friend's happiness. Even after so many years had blurred together, the days running long as the sun set and the moon took over, he never grew tired of Annie. It still felt like just yesterday when he met her shortly after officially joining Carson's circus. Clint grinned at the fond memory.

Her gaze was both intense and soft at the same time. The blue of Annie's eyes held a certain clarity that Clint could only hope for, referring to the doe-eyed look he always carried. Her pixie cut of almond-colored hair was just barely beginning to show signs of growth with how it touched the bottom of her pink ears.

"It's just the small things, Clint. I know I've argued for years on how your age doesn't matter-"

"I'm thirteen!" Clint protested.

"-but I can't imagine you'd remember."

In a way, Annie had been his first mentor. She was also his first friend other than Barney. Clint remembered being upset over the fact that he'd been dropped off with a "baby-sitter" when he was younger, wanting to go and do whatever it was that his brother was doing. However, it didn't take long for realization to strike Clint - the realization that he enjoyed Annie's presence. And since then, she'd taught him tricks about the circus, trapeze, and basic concepts of math and reading.

"It's a blur," he admitted. "Sometimes I remember a voice asking me things about how I am, and really caring. I can't tell if it's actually Carson or not - I do have a rather wild imagination, y'know." Clint waved his hands around dramatically.

"Really? I also can't imagine that."

"Well then I'm the imagination; you're the brains."

Annie unfolded her legs from beneath her. "Brains," she repeated slowly.

"You thinking about a GED again?" Clint said. He remembered Annie explaining about the General Education Development test - how she was considering trying for one.

A GED was basically a high school diploma for dropouts or other teenagers with special circumstances. Clint wasn't exactly sure which category Annie fell into, but he suspected that she'd never gotten the full four year experience. He also didn't understand why you'd want to get one.

Annie shook her head. "No, no. I was thinking about what you said before that."

"That I'm imaginative? I'll also accept the use of the word 'psychopath' if that's more your style."

"That you're the imagination and I'm the brains. The way we split into two parts so easily."

"Oh." Clint fell silent. He didn't like the direction the conversation was headed.

Annie gave him a look of reassurance.

Clint almost wished he had a mirror just to stare at his wide eyes and frantic expression. With practiced ease, he smiled as genuine as he could, keeping his thoughts safely inside his head where they belong. He didn't want to burden Annie with his family issues (if you could call two people a family).

Of course, that was referring to the Barton family, made up of people considered to be dead or deadbeat. Where was the line drawn between friends and family? Or was a group of close, dysfunctional carnies close enough to meeting the requirements? Either way, Clint preferred the circus family he'd somehow acquired - even in the parts where shadows overwhelmed the light.

"It just made me think of you and your brother."

Clint inwardly cursed using what Barney had once called "colorful language". However, it wasn't an unexpected topic for him to broach. He knew better than to expect people to just skim over the fact that his brother was a totally lunatic and currently missing. It reminded him vaguely of the dinners his family would have before his grandparents succumbed to old age.

Clint's father would be able to actually behave like a father, uncharacteristically taking his mind off of alcohol. They would be able to hold a solid discussion about whatever was happening - neighborhood gossip, panels in the newspaper, or the inevitable mention of football and the mess of global politics. Now those times only existed in memory. Sometimes Clint was unsure if it was just a cruel trick of his mind, an elaborate ruse to make him feel less alone.

How could one be alone amidst others?

"I used to think you were close. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on my part, seeing as I never got along with any of my brothers. I saw you both as a pair surrounded by people out to get you. Like the the whole world was against you. Annie waited before speaking again. "Are you going to make me sound it out for you?"

"Ann. You're my friend, not my therapist," teased Clint. Jokes were a go-to for avoiding his many unwanted mistakes from being brought up. He continued, "Maybe you could study psychology. What's high school like?"

"Clint."

"Uh-huh, that's my name. C-l-i-n-t. Clint."

It took a few thick seconds before it sunk in that Annie wouldn't fall for his punchline. He had been hoping for a stroke of good fortune, serendipity even, through a sudden change of topic. Clint fidgeted back and forth. With every minute gone by, the level of uncomfortableness in the metaphorical distance between them grew like a weed.

"Fine," he conceded. "You win."

"What I'm trying to say is that you and Barney looked after each other. Yeah, some of that fighting spirit might've gone sour at times, but you both still had a shield up and were defending a common goal.

"So, you going to explain what's been up with you two lately? I haven't even seen Barney in at least a week."

Clint sighed, looking up at the circus tent roof where the red and white stripes met at a middle point. "As a primary witness to this problem, Annie-"

She glared at him, although there was still nothing but softness in her eyes.

"Things have been weird, okay? I don't know where Barney's run off to, what he's doing, or why he's gone. The last thing I remember was telling him to stop drinking his beer before the last show."

"Just so that we're on the same page," Annie said, "the last show was on Valentine's Day."

"How pathetic. Imagine taking someone to a carnival-type circus scam for romance," he mused.

Annie reached into the back pocket of her denim jeans, the light fabric being specked in black markings from a Sharpie marker they'd found once.

She pulled out a wrinkled sheet of yellow paper. The picture at the center of the bottom was a crude rendering of a bow and arrow. Next to it was a purple blob that Clint remembered was supposed to be a drawing of the mask he wore during his act. Several pink hearts surrounded the arrows. Above, words were faded to the point where they were barely legible. The red and white trim was torn in one corner, cutting off a small triangle piece.

COME AND SEE THE AMAZING CUPID!

"Where'd you get that?" Clint asked, cringing slightly as he remembered being called "Cupid" in time with Valentine's Day. He struggled to see how a baby with an arrow symbolized love. He decided to stick to hawks.

"I kept it, of course. My main reason might've been for blackmail, Cupid."

Clint snorted. "Do not start calling me that!"

"Too late." Annie grinned sheepishly. "Although, I'll raise an alternative."

"I'm listening," he replied. "I always like to hear all my options, yeah?"

"I won't call you Cupid if you talk to Carson. And I mean really talk to him. I'd bet almost anything that he knows something about Barney, something that you or I don't already know." He recognized that there was something Annie wasn't saying. But Clint didn't push.

"Clint," she continued. "This can help you. You just have to take charge of it. Be resourceful with the people around you - talk with them. Talk with Carson."

He opened his mouth to reply, but then closed it again. Words wouldn't form through the passing fog in Clint's head. They wouldn't string together to make sentences. He realized his attempts at ignoring Annie's concerns would just end up being futile, likely only dragging on into other future problem areas to be prodded with a stick.

Clint took a long look at the watch he wore, checking the time while trying to bury his feelings about Barney. For now, at least. It didn't help that Barney had been the one to give him the watch.

"Okay, I fold. I'll talk to Carson in the morning," Clint finally managed. The words tasted like sawdust in his mouth.

Annie ruffled his hair in a way that he figured was supposed to be reassuring. Clint thought that it had the opposite effect, only adding to his inner turmoil and evolving sense of paranoia. Somehow, in the depths of his mind, he already knew that he wouldn't like Carson's answers. If Carson actually provided said answers, instead of tumbling down a flight of denial.