Inheritance of ash

getting ready

It was just past three when they pushed open the doors to the first store — a trendy, polished boutique tucked into a quiet corner of the upper city, all glass and marble and overpriced hangers. Music played overhead, some synthy electro-pop, loud enough to echo off the walls, but not enough to drown out Kate and Vicky who, for the past hour, had been harmonizing to Olivia Rodrigo in the backseat of Clint's car.

Clint had looked ready to throw himself into traffic by the time they parked.

"I hate this already," he muttered as they stepped inside, dragging his feet like a grumpy dad at the mall. "I didn't survive a Budapest extraction for this."

"Don't lie, you love it," Kate chirped, already spinning in a circle under the store's golden lighting, arms out like a kid on Christmas morning.

Vicky laughed beside her, eyes sweeping across the racks of glittering fabric, sequins, soft velvets and silks. She should've felt out of place — hell, she usually did — but right now, surrounded by the mess of her people, she felt... okay.

Until she saw the first dress Kate held up.

"Nope," Vicky said instantly, recoiling at the strapless, skin-tight, hot pink thing dangling from Kate's hand.

"What do you mean, 'nope'? You'd look flawless in this," Kate argued, holding the hanger against Vicky's chest and tilting her head like a true fashion judge. "You've got the shoulders for it."

"I've got the trauma for sleeves," Vicky muttered under her breath, stepping back slightly.

Kate blinked but didn't push. She didn't know. Not about the burn, not about the things Vicky kept hidden, not about how clothes were sometimes armor. But she knew enough to ease off.

Luckily, Wanda caught it all with a glance. She was the queen of quiet understanding — the way she always read the room like a book only she had the key to. She'd wandered off somewhere between Kate's fashion assault and Pietro sprinting to the men's aisle, but now she reappeared like magic, holding a hanger in hand.

The dress was emerald. Long-sleeved. Elegant, but simple. The fabric shimmered slightly in the light, and the sleeves were sheer, made of soft mesh. Wanda gave a small, knowing smile as she held it out. "This," she said simply, "would look amazing on you."

Vicky took it slowly, fingers brushing the mesh. "Thanks," she said softly, and meant it.

Wanda didn't ask. That was the best part. She just nodded and wandered off again.

Behind them, Clint sighed loudly. "You'd think they'd have chairs in these places for the innocent bystanders," he grumbled.

But then — a small chorus of voices interrupted the moment.

"Wait... is that Hawkeye?"

Clint froze. His eyes widened in a kind of internal panic, the kind of look that screamed I am not emotionally equipped for this — but it was too late. A group of teens and a mom holding a toddler were already approaching.

"Can we get a picture with you?" one of them asked, eyes bright with disbelief. "Like... seriously? You're Clint Barton, right?"

Clint straightened up. He scratched the back of his neck, but his mouth twitched into something almost proud. "Uh... yeah. Sure."

And just like that, he forgot his internal monologue about the horrors of shopping. Kate caught Vicky's eye and smirked. "Aww. Look at him. Famous."

"Is it bad I kind of want to yell 'Hawkeye's shopping for lip balm' across the store?" Vicky whispered.

"Do it and I swear I'll make you wear a hat," Kate whispered back.

Vicky paled.

They were laughing again when Kate hooked her arm through Vicky's and dragged her deeper into the racks, Wanda trailing just behind. Vicky clutched the long-sleeved dress like a lifeline.