That could be it. Got those long fingers flicking through the patterns of his mind, got shown the right way to handle his new weapon. In some ways, the thing masquerading as Clint had figured out how to handle Loki in turn.

"Could you imagine if he'd gone for Fury?" Should've, even. The apparent leader, that would've been a smart play. But Loki had come at the problem sideways. "Maybe he didn't have enough heart," added in a mutter.

Or too high profile. Hard to say. He'd turned Selvig, a handful of other agents and scientists. Useful. But not in charge of everything. Able to disappear. Not all of them have taken it too well. They say Selvig's slowly losing his shit. Clint wonders if it's a matter of time for him, too.

"Sometimes," and he hesitates. This isn't therapy. This is a friend. Clint leans his head back and closes his eyes to the ceiling lights. "Sometimes I dream that I'm with him, and it isn't a nightmare."

That he belongs there. That it's right. That it feels the way it's supposed to. Handler and agent.