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It's nothing to verbally spar over, even if it does briefly make him clench his jaw. Just let it wash over him and past him and let it disappear.

Finish off a bottle and then get on his feet. His body protests the motion, and that's too bad. "'m gonna call the floor my bed if I don't get my ass in gear." The world isn't spinning, so that's a pretty good sign. He walks fairly tenderly, but at least he's not stiff. That'll be tomorrow morning, he's sure, to work through with his stretches and morning exercises, while he tries not to hurt himself. "You good to go?"

Steve had been attempting a joke, but he rolls with it definitely not being taken that way, just makes a mental note and pushes himself back up to stand. He finishes the water, and keeps hold of the empty.

Grabs his hat and sunglasses to put back on, once he's up.

"Yeah, I'm good. Let me get the door." Not trying to be patronizing with that one, it's just pretty... uncooperative thanks to rust and water damage. Easier than getting it open the first time, but Steve has to put some work into yanking it open.

He steps through first though he sticks close. Normal close, just a bit more watchful until he's sure Clint's steady. At least the sunglasses will hide that (probably).

Clint kind of wishes he'd brought sunglasses, or a hood, or anything at all. Feels kind of like taking a walk of shame but for fights. But if he looks like shit, then he looks like shit. He's looked worse in more public places, that's for damn well sure.

"You got anything else on your agenda for me?"

It definitely feels like a walk of shame and Steve's glad he included at least a lower traffic route into his consideration for locations.

The question throws him, though. Because it is damn broad. "I need that one unpacked some more. Or an example."

"Just gonna take that as a no, then." That this was the only thing planned, the only thing Steve for sure needed to do for/with/about Clint even if it helped ground himself, too.

But. Okay. Maybe that's unfair. Steve's just asking for clarification, even if he's not sure what there is to clarify. Rephrase it? "Anything like this."

"I'm gonna say if I can convince you to put up with me close enough to let me crawl in bed with you and grab a couple of hours of sleep while you're using those ice packs. My only other plans a all are eating something before and seeing if I can get a run or swim in sometime late this evening." There's more than one admission in there, and probably a more complete answer than is needed, but it's what he's got.

"I can just lay out on the couch again," Clint says mildly. "Nobody has to put up with anyone else. Unless what you're after is some of that ice."

Look. Clint has good eyes. But he's said it before, he sees better from a distance. Not so much right up close next to him.

Silence doesn't usually feel awkward to Steve. Steve feeling awkward sure as hell makes silence happen while he tries to decide if it's worth trying to explain. How the math on the risk of an explanation weighs against any particular benefit when it's just about him.

He pushes one hand up under his sunglasses and rubs at his eyes, but doesn't break his stride or change pace to do it. Puts his hand back in his pocket once he does and keeps his eyes on the path in front of them.

"That one wasn't about you."

Not exactly an explanation, not exactly not.

Edited 2024-11-12 21:36 (UTC)

...Interesting. Clint lets that sit and suggest. His head is getting clearer as they walk at least. And everything feels like it wants to strangle him for letting this happen.

And Steve touching in a non-violent manner was nice. And maybe Steve touching him was nice to Steve too.

He thinks about a hand on his cheek. He thinks about Steve's comforting weight on him.

"Okay. You wanna fit us both in bed, we'll figure the physics out. For you."

At least they'll have ice packs and avoiding bruises and cracked ribs to keep things from being too weird for Clint. Or maybe that'll make it weirder. Steve doesn't know. Doesn't currently care too much, because he feels so... exposed in that exact moment.

"Thanks."

Just that, at least for now. "Was there something you were going to ask me earlier that didn't quite happen? About the Avengers?" Might as well get it all out of the way and self-sabotage the shit out of himself now. Or rather give Clint a chance to.

"You feeling real alone?" Is not the thing he was going to ask, but he's pretty sure he worked most of the viciousness out of himself. "I mean, yeah, no shit, everyone does. I just mean..."

He makes a motion between them. Trying to make that mean whatever the fuck he means. He's not sure he's being successful about it though.

"Are you trying to ask me if I'm doing all this because I'm lonely?" Steve asks, also trying to figure out what Clint means.

No edge in his voice again, at least, not really even tension. Just... a sincere desire to sort it out.

Edited 2024-11-12 22:54 (UTC)

"Not all this. Just. This." How! does he get this! across! Use your words, Barton. "The bed and the touching and stuff."

"No." At least that, perhaps strangely, is an easy answer. It comes immediately, and without a second of... discomfort on his part. "If being lonely was going to have me trying to drag people into bed, I'd have a different reputation." He's not mocking. "I want to, I like you, and I just beat the hell out of you, Clint."

"Feel like it's kind of a new development, is all. Don't remember you getting all cuddly after sparring sessions with people before." He doesn't mean it meanly, mockingly. It's just something else that he isn't used to. "You don't feel bad about what we did, do you? Cuz we both were itching for it."

"I not only don't feel bad about it, I feel pretty good about it." He doesn't... exactly ignore the rest, so much as not know how to address it just then, and he definitely doesn't know how to on the street. "Let's get inside, find some ice packs for you and food for me." Maybe he'll try to take a run at it there.

"Now we know that any time either of us is feeling like crap, just punch me." Now that's a joke. Mostly. With the crooked way his mouth turns up.

And no argument about the rest. Clint might have to doze off himself between the physical exhaustion and the naproxen kicking in. Food for him can happen later when he feels less like his body is going to simply kick his ass harder, somehow.

Steve hopes Clint at least gets some sleep in there.

He laughs a little at that remark, but - "Maybe not every time. You don't heal the way I do." That's a joke too, and returns the faint grin with a more certain one.

Then heads up toward Clint's building. He's just going to get inside, lose the hat, shoes and sunglasses, and shovel some kind of food into his face to hold him over for a more substantial meal later on. Might approach the rest of this, if he can find a way to. Isn't sure he wants to, and if he does if that's a before or after curling up with Clint.

Probably before sleep, at least.

It's almost a relief to be back in the shitty little hovel of an apartment. It's not home by any stretch of the imagination, but something about being here, being here with another person in fact, feels like a completely different world from the wordless grunts of two men duking it out in an abandoned warehouse.

Climbing the stairs has made the bruising on his thighs start to ache pretty prominently, and he decides he needs to get predominantly horizontal very soon. After a wash up in the bathroom. Scrub off the rest of the caked on blood, rub the dirt out of his hair. It looks a little bit more like him in the mirror, rather than the Ronin. It won't last long, out of necessity, but he supposes this isn't a bad thing in the short term.

He gets the ice packs from the freezer, shuffles to the bed, makes himself as comfortable as he possibly can under the circumstances, cold lying directly over aching ribs and remembering to breathe nice and deep and even to remind himself there's no lung puncture, just a deeply satisfying ache that'll hound him for a while.

Sometimes, that Steve grew up in the depression and the fact that he is fundamentally very much a single guy comes to the forefront and goes on display.

Like when what what he grabs to eat is a pack of instant oatmeal - raw - mixed into greek yogurt with peanut butter. In his defense, it's got all the macros, a shit ton of calories, and doesn't actually taste bad. It's just... yeah, strange.

He washes up some himself when he's done, makes sure his trash is handled and by then Clint is settled in bed. This is where he should hesitate, but doesn't let himself. He just crawls in behind Clint. He settles in close by necessity, there's contact, but he really isn't overbearing about it.

It also perceptibly relaxes him. "That wasn't a training session." Which is... at least part of the why of the change. And a damn belated answer.

There's really no good way to be comfortable when his chest is on fire, his back is on fire, his everything is on fire. When Steve gets in the bed, it's clear Clint can't hog the space on his back. Which is fine. His shoulders were begging for a release from the pressure. He scoots to the edge of the bed on his side and rolls to face Steve.

Just seems polite to have a conversation face to face. It's also simply just what his brain wanted him to do, rather than have someone in a vulnerable blind spot. He can argue with that part of his brain later. He keeps his arms lightly crossed over his chest to keep the packs there.

"No," Clint agrees, "that was both of us trying to exorcise some demons for a bit."

"Yeah."

Steve reads Clint rolling to face him as not wanting Steve at his back, and moves himself as far away from Clint as he can get, without being overtly obvious about it. That's not a whole lot of actual space, but he definitely does his best to give Clint some room.

He is aware that he instigated this. Doesn't mean he can't be considerate.

"It's not important. Just different context and didn't want you to think I'd lost my mind. Give me ten to finish getting my brain back together and I'll get out of your hair for a while so you can get some real rest."

It doesn't seem not important. It seems particularly important, actually, the distinction here. Clint gives him an assessing look, trying to pick this apart.

"If you need me to be a big teddy bear for you, you can ask. Can't promise you won't get a hedgehog instead." Because this is for Steve. He admitted that. So he needs someone, or the weight of someone, or the heat of someone, or the simple knowledge for his brain to absorb that he isn't alone.

He wishes it was that easy, though he acknowledges most of the complications and difficulties exist only because of his own hangups.

"With that haircut...." It's a pretty weak joke, about hedgehogs. It's mostly buying time. "I could use some physical contact for a while. I don't need it enough for you to make yourself overly uncomfortable for it."

He's... trying to ask? While making it clear if Clint's not okay, he will move.

"You didn't get enough physical contact earlier?" A joke back. A flash of a smirk. "I get it." Kind of. The weight on him, knowing that in that moment he was safe.

"You wanna...get up in this? Or you wanna big spoon?"

Asks the grown man to another grown man.

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