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"I can't-"

He starts and then stops. He knows he has to be able to talk to Clint, here. Clint deserves more than the push button Captain America bullshit everyone but Nat's been getting. Even she's got some force of habit... inspirational shit. Move forward, grow, rebuild the world and make it something. She just manages to cut him off and somehow forces him to engage more honestly, if only in a pretty subdued way.

Clint deserves more than fake positivity, or some attempt to play therapist and not actually engaging with him. He deserves more honesty than that. He deserves more of Steve than that. Hell, Steve needs more than that.

Steve just has to find a way to start.

"I put the plane down and was found in winter...." He starts sounding almost tentative - for him, not for anyone else. "but it wasn't a controlled environment like a cyro chamber. Temperatures fluctuate, you know? Never really warm enough long enough to thaw, but I'd have these periods of... not waking up but sort of becoming aware and merging reality and memories into some really messed up shit. Couldn't move. Couldn't see. Couldn't breathe. My brain would spin out, trying to make sense of it I guess. Came out of it and felt like I'd been dropped on an alien planet, nothing made sense and nothing felt real, but I was pissed about it." He pauses there, for a second. "This feels more like the ice than out of it. I have gotta find a way to wake up and get mad about it."

Edited 2024-11-05 16:21 (UTC)

With this, with what happened to spin the world slightly off axis and make everyone reevaluate their place in the universe, it's easy to think that the others might look at Clint and fail to grasp the enormity of the loss in comparison. But in the grand scheme of things, what can't be grasped is all of what Steve's lost. Not only family and friends, but all familiarity with the world around him. The city he grew up in alien and unrecognizable. Technology leaping so far ahead as to be like magic.

Clint grew up with stories about Captain America; everyone knew who the legendary hero to the point of myth was. And when their on a mission, it's easy to see how he became so legendary. Leadership that comes naturally, charisma coming out his ass, a sense of surety and stability. But he knows Steve above all of that now. And it's one thing to look at what happened from a distance, but to think about it happening to a real flesh and blood person who's sitting in the room with him, feet casually knocked against each other, to a friend, it's a whole other ballpark.

It isn't a competition. It's acknowledgement of loss, of being unmoored. Agreeing that reality has a fake quality that's all too familiar to Steve. Because he's been there. Trapped in ice, alive and not, awake and not.

He appreciates this about Steve. Telling it like it is. Not glossing it over with some platitudes, not skittering away from the topic. It feels like a breath of air, however brief before his head sinks below the storm waves again.

"You can get mad about this with me." With a little shallow nod. "Gonna have to come up with a new outfit. Gotta cover up that handsome mug of yours if you end up doing as the Ronin does. I can't promise the world'll feel any more real, but it beats a vast icy nothingness."

No, no competition - just an attempt to get past his own shit enough to build and keep a connection. He can't quite get to a point of prioritizing him handling his crap, but if Clint's going to offer him a way of maybe doing some of that, even if it's unconventional, Steve will take it.

And be relieved and grateful for it. Clint doesn't owe him that much cooperation -- and if helping Steve lets him do so much as be able to be around his guy and keep Clint from being totally in the wind? No hesitation.

"We're gonna have to find a way to cover my face, and some kinda strategy that keeps me out of your way." Or at least for Steve to get an understanding of how Ronin moves and works so he can predict Clint well enough to do that. " I'll probably defer to you on the mask thing, if you've got thoughts. The... strategy and movement'll be easier with a specific target and plan. Might go lurk on a roof and watch this one. Should give me a solid start."

"Shadow me 'til you feel like you can do it on your own two feet?" Clint doesn't have the intention of keeping Steve around as a partner in crime, a deft duo, by that point. If Steve can figure it out, then he can hit his own targets. Do twice the work with two of them. "Or until you decide it's not for you or something. Probably gonna have to figure out a new weapon of choice, too. Shield's a little obvious, and you're not gonna get a good replacement outside of cashing in some Wakandan checks. Could punch everyone to hell and back. I mean, as a normie, not exactly a viable plan, but with you?" Those fists can absolutely be deadly weapons.

Which is kind of one of the exciting things about the possibility of getting pummeled by them, but that is beside the point.

"Mask doesn't have to be much. Cover the nose, mouth, chin. You'd be shocked how hard it is to get any kind of facial recognition that way. Keep it breathable; you're not going into a hazmat situation. Headgear isn't necessary, just a preference and another layer of protection. If you think eyes might be a problem, some kinda tactical goggles won't do you much wrong, but you still lose some field of vision." Arguably Clint's hood does the same thing but not, he would say, in anywhere near the same capacity.

The noise that comes out of Steve at mention of just using his fists is somewhere between a laugh and a pained groan. Not mean or patronizing, at all, just - "I'm pretty sure I could get away with just bare handed killing people, but going in with that as a primary plan's a little more actively suicidal than I wanna get; it's just inviting a head or heart shot and that's probably the better option than someone hitting me in the spine and laying there twitching while I heal." He should... probably not sound half entertained and amused by most of those thoughts. "Can probably make small explosive, blades, and a gun work out all right." He's used all of those in various ways and he's got great aim. Throw in some kevlar, maybe. Pummel Clint he's still in for. Not kill him, but pummel solidly.

Face obscurity's easier, once Clint lays it out that way. His eyes aren't that recognizable. Hell, he might even manage unassuming if he does it right and nobody's looking too close. Anyway: "Shadow you isn't the right word. Observe from one, more like. I like you too much to risk your neck getting in the way, but you've got a good map. I'll find an observation point."

"It'll be dark. The lighting immediately around the warehouse will be fairly lit like Christmas, but the surrounding buildings are gonna be dark. Catty-corner alley or a good roof with some height, maybe. Don't know how much you're gonna see from the outside, though." He slumps a little, stretching out more. Loosen the muscles. Think about the plan. Make small alterations to the plan with the new information. It helps get him in the zone. Like archery. Something that a lot of people might find stressful actually helps to relax, block out the noise.

"I'm gonna take out a couple cameras first. You wanna get up close about it, that'll be the side of the building to cling to. If you're worried about witnesses--" Clint wants to bite out 'don't'. But that sounds particularly harsh. "Well, hey, you've done undercover and on the run before; you can figure it out."

And, sure, Steve could use guns. Guns are loud, though. They have ammo limits; you can't get bullets back like you can arrows or throwing knives. Steve with blades, though? Hm. It'd definitely take time to learn in a way that's proficient, but Steve's more than adaptable. It'll all be down to preference, though. He looks at Steve warily, then away again, mulling it over.

"I get a little ritualistic," and the word sounds so fucking stupid in his ears, "before a mission. Sharpen everything. Gets me centered. Puts me in the mindset. Might answer if you talk to me, might stay quiet instead. Dunno. Knew I couldn't just stick with a bow, so I expanded my repertoire."

"I'm not doubting the nature and how you go about it's changed," Clint's changed. That's not criticism, just recognition, "but you've always been more quiet and focused than any of the rest when we were going into something."

They all had their own... thing. Way of handling, mindset, mental space before and during. If Steve's got one thing he's good at that isn't straight fight, it's that he can usually move between those without too much friction. Not even with Tony in those settings.

"I'm not gonna be looking for responses from. I'll let you handle cameras and get in a blindspot then stay out of your way." Unless something goes really, really south and then he's going to Steve. "You said day after tomorrow for this?" He might be reconsidering his 'pummel Clint' timeline. Slightly.

Edited 2024-11-08 00:13 (UTC)

He always liked to have little rituals before, some more sentimental than others. But he also never needed them. He could jump into the fray at the drop of a hat. But now he's got time, plans out his missions, has space to breathe. One thing to make sure all the gear is good to go, another to help quiet the noise inside his head to focus on, not being Hawkeye, but being Ronin.

"I believe you when you say you'll be out of the way, y'know. I know you mean it. But I also know you're the first one to jump in to lend a hand if you feel it's needed. Our definitions might not match up." Just pointing it out. Steve will do what Steve does. And they're all different, now, in this fearful new world.

"Day after tomorrow," Clint affirms with a nod. "Tomorrow's some time to take in the sights if you want, do some last minute prep work. Make sure nothing's changed. Then the next day's the even more last minute prep before the show begins. So you'll be staying around more than 24 hours, that's for sure."

"If they don't, we can fight about it after the fact." Meaning, yeah. He's got every intention of being reasonable, but he's still mostly him. He's going to do what he's going to do, and will deal with the consequences.

"More than twenty four hours isn't a problem and obviously your time-line needs to be what it is. I'm trying to work out when I'm fitting in that sparring session, more than where I'm working in some beach time. Do you have a location for that in mind?" In here is a bad idea.

...He still cares more about timing right now than place.

It's almost a laugh. It's laugh-adjacent, the noise that comes out of him. "You really need it, too, huh?" Not enough people to punch in New York, maybe. Or nobody left who wants to spar but with no holds barred. How many punching bags has he torn through? "Just remember, I don't heal the way you do."

Does the idea of getting absolutely wrecked by Steve sound appealing? Yeah. But he also can't be out of commission for weeks or months while he heals. (Well, hiding in a hole for a couple weeks while he scouts out a new location isn't so bad.) Clint's always been someone who heals well and pushes the limits of what a healing body could and should do. Much to the chagrin of his handlers, back when he had handlers. Steve can pull his punches like a master, but if the gloves come off, that super strength is deadly. So. Balancing act. Bloody each other up without doing something foolish like shattering spines or crushing rib cages.

"Funny enough, I didn't scout out a good place for two ex-heroes to duke it out in mind. Must've forgot to look for one, silly me."

He's not really offended in any serious way, not even enough not to have some faint amusement in his expression. There's just also a bit of a look.

"I am not gonna forget you don't heal the way I do." He's not elaborating because it'll drag the mood down and he doesn't want that, but sparring sessions with him don't come without some holds barred. Brief interlude when Bucky was relatively stable and still here. No one spars with Hulk. Because yeah. Gloves off, it's deadly. He doesn't forget that. Ever.

"Bruised and sore, maybe bloody. Not broken." That's the start of terms, Clint can negotiate around it as he wants or need, or at least negotiate it with Steve. "And I'll find a place. You pick the time, and I'll show up."

Edited 2024-11-09 00:14 (UTC)

"You tired?" It's an abrupt change of topic, no matter how casually he affects it. He rolls back up to his feet, gives a little stretch, and makes to clear items from the bed. Sword. Notebook. There's a good, sharp blade for throwing under the pillow that he tucks in his hoodie. "Shower first? I don't have any clothes to lend you that you aren't gonna stretch into the next dimension. If you brought a go bag, better go fetch it."

"I'll go grab it. I'm going to take the long way there and back," just in case. "So give me half an hour before you fall asleep or get twitchy about it. I'll shower and get ready for bed, then."

Not a single hint he has even noticed how abrupt the topic change is, just him getting to his feet and preparing to head out. Unless Clint suddenly has some objections.

"Sounds good. I'll be here." He's not going to make a run for it while Steve's out. The thought is tempting. Now that it's all catching up to him now. But he won't. He'll be a good little host about it. Try to set up the couch in a way that should be comfy enough. Shove things away. Pack a few things. Hell, a quick shower while Steve's gone isn't a bad idea anyway.

Steve's aware this would be a great opportunity for Clint to shake him, but he's also pretty sure Clint won't. He's not sure why, except somehow ending up on the floor together and a lot of that talk felt more... solid and real than anything has in a while.

He doesn't rush back. He picks up his backpack with his stuff, and does what he said he was going to. He takes the long way back, getting some idea of a place that will work for privacy for an intense sparring session without getting authorities or spectators involved, and makes it back within that half hour.

He hesitates outside the door for about half second, then raps on it with the backs of his knuckles. It's pretty quiet, but if Clint's expecting him it should be audible enough.

He has to ease the tension out of himself (as much as he can, given the natural tension he carries on himself these days) when there's a rap on the door. Quiet. Soft. But he hears it well enough. And he knows it's Steve, but the paranoid part thinks someone's caught him out, connected dots, come for their pound of flesh.

It's just Steve. He knows this.

He has to wonder if Steve's surprised to see him. He's still a little surprised at himself. But then, maybe if someone else had found him, they wouldn't have been as understanding.

Clint's dressed down, hair still sporting a bit of dampness in it, simple sweatpants, simple shirt. It'll give Steve a glimpse at the working of lines along one arm, the start(?) of a bigger picture of a tattoo. He doesn't say anything as he moves aside to let Steve back in, nor when he closes the door again gently.

Clint looks... Exposed, maybe even vulnerable in a specific kind of way. Fragile, but in a way that's brittle. Maybe it's the damp hair, maybe it's being dressed down that far. Maybe it's none of those and he's just projecting.

He doesn't move out of Clint's way by much - just gets inside, and stays fairly close while Clint shuts the door and watches him. The degree of care there says something too, probably.

Steve doesn't break the silence, but when he does move to move past Clint he deliberately touches him. Not forced, not unnatural, just a hand on one of Clint's upper back as he moves behind.

It's not really casual. It's a normal sort of touch for him, but he's looking for the response to it. Staying silent this far? Just seems like the right thing.

Edited (Just fixing shit.) 2024-11-11 14:37 (UTC)

He's never been prone to being jumpy. A spy has to keep cool under pressure and when faced with the unexpected. A dad has to keep cool with a bunch of kids running underfoot. He's always had a physicality to his affections, to family and friends and teammates.

Clearly he's let people touch him willingly. Someone charted the course for a vicious snake along his arm, for instance. But it's been a long time since a casual, friendly touch has entered his life. A knock of boots is one thing. This is not dissimilar, though. It's casual and Steve all the same, but Clint's rapidly trying to figure out if it's calculated, if any of it warrants the way his shoulders tense up like he wants to whirl around and fight, see an attack where there very much isn't one.

Seeing potential threats everywhere keeps him alive.

Steve is not, though. Not a threat. Not an enemy. It's fucking Steve. So he forces his shoulders to relax again. "Bed's all yours," he finally makes himself say to break the silence before it gets awkward. "Can keep your bag under it; mine's in the closet."

It's fucking Steve.

It's casual, friendly, even affectionate touch - and it's also information. The reaction doesn't surprise him. The... sad part isn't so much just that there's tension, as the type of tense. It doesn't even read to Steve as a 'don't', so much as a checked pivot and strike.

He does not draw attention to it, directly, doesn't back off, and isn't awkward. In silence or return from it, for that matter.

"Sounds good," he says, easily. "Though I am gonna grab that shower and change first. My hair's about 8 hours from qualifying as an oil spill." Look, he can and often is filthy around any battle scenario, but given the option of not being, he's taking it.

Besides, there's a steady kind of normal in that, while he drops his bag on the bed, and grabs his own sweats and t-shirt out of it. "I think I managed to find a place that'll work for us."

"Also all yours," he says with a brief flash of tense, fake smile. "Water heats slow, but at least it heats."

So not talking about the reaction. Okay. Whatever Steve was looking for (if he was looking for something, if he wasn't just being Steve, though his every motion around Clint has had a particular weight to it so maybe he was looking, maybe he's doing his own scouting out of Clint's whole being--), he's filed it away internally. He can work with that.

He turns to the couch, running a hand through his hair. It's not the short spikes it used to be, slowly growing out, but still very recognizably Clint. "You're determined to try and work me over before I gotta get to my work, huh?"

Steve just needs a damn haircut. He's starting to look less like a military guy and more like a middle aged escapee from a boyband. Those couple of years on the run might've built his tolerance to hair in (and on) his face a little further than ideal for aesthetics.

He stops what he's doing and looks at Clint, then- "I'm gonna shower and pretend you don't seem to be on some see-saw with this and whether or not you trust me or are sure you wanna do this." He's been pretty clear, he thinks. Yes. He wants to do this. "You change your mind about it, let me know. If you need to be armed to feel okay about doing it, do that. Otherwise, we can hit that warehouse tomorrow morning, and you to have recovery time before you get busy."

It's less about wanting to do it--because god, yes, he wants to let someone (earn the right to) beat the shit out of him--and more about the timing. Ugh, they might have to have a conversation about the amount of hurt involved if he's supposed to recover enough in a day to not be hindered or distracted.

Fine, maybe they do a little sparring, he gets the wind knocked out of him, and then it's up and at 'em. Maybe break his nose so they have to crack it back in place and tape it down, but the swelling still might be a hindrance. Bruised ribs he can work through. Cracked ones, too, though he remembers the way Coulson gave him a stern talking-to about it while laid up in medical after.

Or just go into it blind and let whatever happens happen. Fuck it. Maybe that's the strat.

By the time Steve's done, Clint's curled on the couch with a blanket around him. Pretending to sleep.

Steve's pushing the timing. He's pushing the timing because any time he can get to Clint, it's going to be at best a couple of days. He's making assumptions, but Clint is going to have to move after he acts, and he can't see a scenario where Clint tolerates Steve trailing after him.

Steve would prefer a conversation. He'll live without one. It won't be totally blind, at least. He knows Clint, knows some of the shit he's done and worked through both with Steve and before him, knows more or less what his method is now.

What that translates to is, yeah, rib cage. Heavy bruising, maybe letting something crack but not break - that's easy enough to support. Upper back, but not shoulders, spine, or anything like kidneys - again with bruising, not breaking. Shit that he can make hurt a stunning amount but won't do any lasting damage.

This is absolutely a place where something like a HYDRA electric baton would come in handy, but he'll make it work.

He comes out of the shower smelling fairly strongly of soap, rolls his eyes at Clint pretending to be asleep (but silently), because no way did someone that tense fall asleep that fast. He does not call it out. He shoves the clothes he'd been wearing into a plastic bag and to the bottom of his pack and then takes the damn bed.

He does fall asleep. Not deeply asleep but an up and down thing where he dozes, drops to deeper sleep, rouses enough to orient and make sure he can still hear Clint breathing, and then drops back.

It's almost, almost annoying the way Steve refuses to push him. Maybe they really do need a fast and furious spar just to get something like a fight out of their system. It's what he would've expected, a fight. Just fucking fight him already. Tell him he's wrong, tell him he's being stupid and dangerous and fucked up, try to take him home or whatever the hell home might be now, and fight about it.

But Steve is smart and knows better. That that kind of fight, even if he were aiming for it (and apparently isn't), would make Clint run. And he wants Clint close. And Clint is fucking stupid enough to allow it. The little game of 'I know that you know that I know that you know that-' chess is exhausting, and he knows he can take Steve at his word. That's all he's ever needed from Steve. Just his word.

Steve's a good man, and it has nothing to do with purity or with a willingness to kill or not.

It doesn't make sleep come easily, though. Having another person in the room is...a habit he had fallen out of. His senses feel particularly attuned to each breath and all movement. If they both slept on their sides, they might even both be able to snuggly, tightly fit on the bed together. So of course Clint will stay right where he's at on the lumpy-ass couch.

There's a time deep in the night where, if Steve rouses, he won't be able to hear Clint. He's slipped out into the dark, where he can breathe for a bit. Really breathe in cooler air with the tang of salt on the breeze. Try to work out some of the ratcheted tension, try to meditate a little, try to recenter himself.

It at least makes him feel better by the time he slips back in, enough that when he's curled back on the couch, he feels like he can actually sleep instead of faking it til he makes it.

Steve could physical stop Clint. He could bodily remove Clint and drag him back 'home'. Steve can't get what he wants with force.

And he respects Clint too much - and cares too much - to try.

He's never in his life, not even with Bucky, had a single impulse to drag a person into bed with him the way he does Clint. He'll examine that one later - maybe. More likely he won't think about it but will try it after he kicks the shit out of Clint and gets him into a state that can substitute for more relaxed for a few hours.

He lays awake and quiet until he hears Clint come back in, then settles back into that interrupted sleep cycle. Sits on the edge of his bed and rubs his face with both hands. Sleeping in wet hair made a mess of it, and Steve does not care.

"Rise and shine, Barton." Not that he doesn't expect Clint to have woken up from the second Steve moved.

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