Steve wants to trust Clint. He really does. But this is his home, those are his girls, and that is his wife looking like if she could spit bullets Clint would already be dead.

He goes into the girls' room first, ushering them along. In part, it reflects the rest of the house - books, though a lot of them are children's books instead of textbooks, art, world maps on the walls. There's also a dollhouse that looks like it was built by hand, full of furniture and dolls made the same way. One of them has a teeny tiny carved machine gun.

There are a few more childish posters, educational-type things or enlarged covers of books. One of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe is pasted slightly crooked above the checkered bed that Rosalie throws herself onto. Sarah waits until the door is closed before she sits down on her own bed, fixes Clint with a beady look, and says, "Are you really from the future?"

"Uncle Howard can't have babies." Rosalie rolls onto her back. "That's weird."

Steve struggles very hard not to smile. "You two were supposed to be in the kitchen."

"We were in the kitchen," Sarah says, her expression serene.

Rosalie sits up. "Momma will be here soon. Are you really from the future?"