At least Clint doesn't pull himself away this time like Frank's made of fire. It makes every inch of his body stiffen up like he's ready to fight, but there's nothing to fight. It's just Frank. And he could hit Frank, sure. But in this case, at long last, he doesn't deserve it.
He shakes his head through the whole little speech, but he's listening. He swears he's listening. And the place where his logic's all hogtied, that bit of brain agrees. What the hell could he have done? He doesn't know. He wasn't there. And he's got no powers, nothing but insane aim and some funky arrows, and he probably would've gotten hit once and been taken out of the fight, and then he wouldn't be here.
These past two years have been some of the best of his life. Getting to be with them, every single day. And now that's gone. But he knows where they were, what they were doing. They were all happy.
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He shakes his head through the whole little speech, but he's listening. He swears he's listening. And the place where his logic's all hogtied, that bit of brain agrees. What the hell could he have done? He doesn't know. He wasn't there. And he's got no powers, nothing but insane aim and some funky arrows, and he probably would've gotten hit once and been taken out of the fight, and then he wouldn't be here.
These past two years have been some of the best of his life. Getting to be with them, every single day. And now that's gone. But he knows where they were, what they were doing. They were all happy.
"Doesn't mean a damn thing." Doesn't it?