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"I don't even know how to talk about this without sounding like a dick to myself. 'Cause you're right. I've got every advantage there is. And I didn't expect this trip to be this much about me trying to work my own shit out and taking you on a roller coaster ride you didn't ask for or need."

He isn't opposed to trying though, since - well, napping with Clint and just time have at least evened out some of those rough edges. Hell, even just admitting that he is all over the place might have.

"I guess all it really comes down to is that I can't do what you're doing, because the second I let myself get that pissed off at the world, I'm dangerous to everybody. I can't do what Tony's doing because I... don't have that in me, anymore. I guess I'm going to keep doing what I'm doing now. Make sure you and everybody else knows there's a place to go if you need and want it, move between you and Nat, take the connection where I can get it, and... wait."

That all makes sense. Steve's caught between. He's got righteous anger in spades, but the kind of deep hurt balled up into a low burning rage that Clint's got is a different beast altogether. If Tony's given up, well, no, that's not a thing Steve can do, either. Have to keep moving until he finds his niche in this new world.

He catches onto a word Steve uses, though, and turns it over in his head. "You don't have as big a family as you did. And with you being Captain America in a world that might be a little this side of cynical about that icon, you can't exactly just go out and make new friends. You're lonely. You're frustrated. You want to do more than you're doing and don't know how to start. And you miss the connections you had before."

All Steve really expects to get from that is Clint to understand well enough that he's not trying to jerk Clint around, and to know where Steve landed. Be reassured by that knowledge that Steve's not going to start jumping into his fights with him.

What he got was being understood better than he expected to be, and the word 'lonely' landing harder than a punch to the gut, knocking the air out of him and for just a second making him want to cry. Doesn't, but does close his eyes and let his head thunk back against the wall behind him, softly.

"Yeah." That is... the long and short of it. He does sound vaguely like he might cry around the first word, then gets the rough tension out of his voice by clearing his throat. "So. I'll probably turn up again. I won't be in your way."

"...Well now I feel like kind of an asshole." He's not sorry. He cut to the heart of it enough to dig at Steve's emotions. But it's...an experience to hear that tone in Steve's voice.

Clint eases himself down to the floor, too. Floor buddies again. "I think you know that if I decided right now to come back, that wouldn't be enough. You lost a little too much. Not so much that who's left isn't enough, cuz that sounds rude as hell, right? But also...it isn't enough. You're missing more. And it fucking sucks."

Steve gives Clint a very mild look for saying he feels like an asshole, but since it's not an apology, he doesn't feel the need to say Clint shouldn't. Clint definitely shouldn't, though. The man lost his wife and his kids. Which is not a thing that's ever far from Steve's mind.

The floor, though? Apparently that's where the serious conversations happen.

"It sounds way past rude." Not a thing he'd ever say, "but you're right. I don't even know what enough would look like, anymore." Nothing in reach or likely to get there. But: "Chasing you down once in a while and reassuring myself you're not dying in a ditch will do me more good than you sitting back there being miserable, too. But the door's open if you need it."

"You lost your best friend. Again. And one of the only real super people around. And you feel like it's your fault." Clint gives a shrug. "There's no good way to deal with it. You just have to do whatever feels right."

"You know, things are gonna get really awkward if I start crying, right?" It's not actually a chide. Just kind of tiredly wry. He appreciates Clint. He likes Clint more in that moment than he likes anybody left on the planet.

But also: "I'll be fine. I think I just needed to... stop trying to come up with a plan."

"I'm not gonna judge you if do cry. It'll definitely be awkward. Like if you need it, I can keep going, talk about how lonely you must be and how sad it is and how wild it is that you decided to pick your ass up and come find me of all people to deal with the lonely feeling and hoping to feel a little less alone."

He spreads his hands. "I can also shut the hell up."

He came really close to making a smart remark, but then Clint started talking and : "Why is it wild that I came to find you?" Not came to find anyone, not tried to do something about it - Clint can accept that and it's accurate.

But Steve truly doesn't get why him seeking Clint out is so surprising.

Edited 2024-11-14 23:57 (UTC)

He blinks. "Why wouldn't that be wild? I guess making sure I'm alive would make you feel a little bit better. A good distraction."

"Have I screwed up badly enough with you, that you think I only care if you're dead or not and as a distraction?"

How.

Clearly yes, and Clint is Clint. But God, he thought he'd been more clear than that.

Edited 2024-11-15 00:17 (UTC)

"...You didn't screw up. There's nothing screwed up." Except Clint. Clint is screwed up and he screwed up somewhere here. Just...stuff food in his face instead. Now that's a distraction.

"Nope."

Meaning that there is something screwed up - besides both of them, in their various ways and... Well, if Clint can lay things out, Steve certainly can. "I'm here because you're a good guy, no matter how little you believe that. I'm here because you - specifically you - matter to me. I'm here because you're worth some effort. I'm here because you put your ass on the line - repeatedly - to save mine. I'm here because you're good for me, and always have been. I'm here because you lost your kids, and there's only so much space I can give you before the message turns into me avoiding how fucked that is and avoiding you."

He tries to bury the feelings in food. Because it's there. Doesn't look at Steve, just keeps his head down and lets whatever he has to say wash over him. He sinks a little and a little more. Good? Never have been that good, even less so now. Worth effort? Definitely not. Good for Steve? Well, that's for Steve to figure, so he can't argue that.

Steve says the unspoken, and everything in his mouth turns to ash. It takes every inch of power in him to swallow it down in spite of that.

In one two three out one two three, just remember to keep breathing. He moves in slow motion, it feels like, when he presses his back against the wall behind him to aggravate the sting, breathe deep and steady to press that to his aching ribs. Maybe it's a little too long before he feels like he can speak. But he knows Steve will give him that space and that time because he's a good man and Clint can't find a reason to feel deserving of it.

"I was never going to be offended if you avoided me. I didn't want to be found in the first place, remember."

Steve gives Clint the time because it's the... kind, maybe, is the word that applies, thing to do after saying that out loud, and pushing that hard.

"You didn't want to be found. That doesn't change a thing if I'd known I could find you, even once and didn't. There's a line on space that's useful then it just turns into enough room to convince yourself it's better for everybody else to stay away, or that nobody's bothering to look."

Or before you're dead in a ditch.

"It is better to stay away."

Steve can refute that. Point out how he needed this himself even if Clint didn't, and it's obvious that Clint needed something out of it, too. They've both gotten it. They might still be able to get more.

"I'm still not after your pity. If that's anything you're offering."

He 'refutes' that mostly by giving Clint a look. It does not need a verbal response, and he's pretty sure any verbal response he can give will provide room for Clint to argue with him.

And there's plenty of evidence already that it's not.

"Pity and respect can't coexist. So no. I don't pity you." He tosses a balled up (clean) Napkin lightly toward Clint. "You stubborn ass."

Clint scowls in return, resisting for now any urge to pettily return the favor. "Been called a lot worse," he grunts. "You can do better than that."

"I can do much worse. I can go back to complimenting you and see how long it takes you to stop twitching every time I do.

Retreat into banter and throwing things? Yes. Even if there's a little actual seriousness in that one. But very little.

"You're gonna say some bullshit about how much you respect me while dancing around how sad you are for me. I don't know, feels like it can coexist just fine."

"My dad died when I was a couple of months old. My mom died when I was 18. Only child of two only children. The closest I got to a wife and kids was a kiss once and almost making it to a date. Family at all isn't something I know, and I sure as hell don't get that kind of loss. I'm not going to patronizing you by pretending I do, but I'm not going to start pretending I'm too stupid to know that it's bigger than I can comprehend, either. Respect and pity can't coexist. Respect and compassion usually do."

Oh look. Words. A lot of them. He'd apologize from that, but he's still sprawled on the kitchen floor, and he.. doesn't want to and isn't worry.

Floor time is sacred; it's hard truths time, and pointed questions time, and struggling with feelings time. Apparently.

It's better than Steve tiptoeing around everything, that's for sure. He wouldn't be able to stomach being gentle. Kind, compassionate, that's another matter, but Steve's firm in his feelings and his beliefs, and that's just one of many reasons Clint respects him.

It doesn't mean he has to be nice about it. "Neither of those things do anything for me. Am I glad you don't hate my guts? Yeah, sure, of course. But what am I supposed to do with your compassion?" He flexes his shoulders against the hard surface, just to keep the sting up. "Compassion's what made you realize maybe I need a sound beating to get my head on straight? God, I wish you didn't have to hold back. Maybe you shouldn't."

"I don't expect my feelings to do anything for you." That's also a hard truth, but an equally blunt statement. "I'm just telling you that I don't pity you."

But then he snorts. "Clint, if you want some real serious heavy pain I'll make it happen, but it's going to take some kind of... tool use. I hold back. All the time, in everything. The only exception is when I'm fighting some super powered jackass trying to end the world. That can't change."

"I know."

Which is why he said it. And he didn't regret saying it, didn't try to gobble the words back into his mouth and unsay it.

"I guess all that's fair for almost making you cry."

Spin it into an almost-joke. That he can do.

He isn't upset by the remark and wouldn't know what there is to be sorry about, anyway. Doesn't have the good sense to leave the heart of it alone, though.

Which amounts to Clint at least needing more, and the way he's leaning into physical pain.

"Good, now let's come up with a plan to give you as close to what you're actually looking for as we can get. Not here and now, that's stupid, but something we can move toward." A pause - "And no it isn't me being a martyr for you, either."

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