brandingproblem | open post

"Man," a little breathlessly. "I mean, I've been to your part of the museum before. But they don't exactly talk about your art there."

Of course he's been there. Who hasn't been there? Until relatively recently, Captain America was practically a myth in his own right.

"Everything's still looking good to go. I'm trusting you to stay out of sight. I'll do my thing. And then we go from there." Just as an update. He shoves the hood off his head, ruffling up his hair when he does so. "Sorry to leave you bored, but at least you've got that. The art."

"That display isn't me. That's a Captain America exhibit. Too bad I woke up and spoiled the fantasy."

Which is... actually a thing he feels bad about. Inferiority complex when compared to himself? Yeah, actually, at least the ideal that's not really him. Something about Tony and bottles that was just verification but is never going to leave his head.

"Not sure if I wanna reassure you by telling you I'm good at being bored, or that I wasn't bored. Both are true." He shrugs and closes the cover, sticks the pencil into the spiral binding and pushes it away from him.

"Nothing's changed on my end or with my intentions. I'll be out of sight and out of the way unless something's going way south. At that points, all bets are off. I don't see that happening."

"The real thing's better." And he means it. The ideal of Captain America doesn't hold a candle to Steve actual Rogers, flesh and blood human being.

He reaches out a hand, laying it flat on the cover, but he doesn't pull it toward him, doesn't open it up. People obviously get sensitive about the personal stuff. His fingers drum a moment. "You wanna show me anything else? Promise I won't laugh."

The real guy 'let' half of life on earth get turned into dust and Clint might not blame him - but Tony does, and so does Steve. He gives Clint a faint, appreciative, smile anyway.

"You can look through it if you want. There are some more portraits in there, including the team and Sam, but I don't think there's anything in there so personal it'd bother me or... so close to you that it'd be a problem. Or you can work backward if you want to skip those and stick with landscapes, logos and cartoons."

Basically the further out this is, the less cohesive the art gets.

There are portraits in there. Howard. Bucky from before even the War. Nat and Clint. Tony and Banner. Sam and Bucky. Thor. Most of them from how he remembers and sees them most strongly. Meaning from the period they were living in Avenger's Tower and things were okay. Movie nights and parties, not... fighting and conflict.

"Maybe this is what you should do instead of," shrugs, "any of this. Be an artist. Fill commissions. Get put up in galleries." He flips through pages studiously, genuinely interested. He's never been an artist himself, doesn't really know shit about it, but he can tell it's good.

"I can't believe there was a time when all this shit was simpler," he says, thumbing a page with Thor's grinning face like he might shine right through the paper.

Steve is barely aware that he's doing it, but lately the more he feels like he is in danger of breaking down or just feeling a particular heavy ache in his chest that comes pretty close to being the physical representation of heartbreak...

He quirks one corner of his mouth up in a smile. One meant to reassure whoever he's talking to that he's okay. Because he's ok.

He does that now. "Maybe. Might be able to ride on Captain America and advertise to collectors or sell those off. The further you get, the more it... devolves. It's still technically decent but it stops being art somewhere around the Accords and keeps going downhill until it's basically stock images and clip art. No one wants to look at what's in my head, including me."

That's a look that Steve gets, and Clint just stares at him for a few long moments. Something about it seems flat. But if Steve's going to insist the rest of it is crap, Clint will flip to that specific section, the newer stuff, less people, less cityscapes. Devolving into flat shapes.

"Graphic designer," he says. "Businesses still need ads and logos and shit. But you've still got it in you; I saw you were sketching the view out the window, before, or trying to."

"I will eventually finish that one. Might be once I'm back in the States, but it'll be interesting to see if I can get it on paper in a way I like. Try animals." He shrugs. He doesn't know. But: "Graphic design's not a bad idea. I almost went that direction before I enlisted."

He... might even actually do it, although mostly to give himself something to fill time and reassure people that he's okay.

"You could sketch me if you want a living model. Maybe it'll help get you out of this creative funk or something. Dunno, I've never been artsy that way." Another shrug as he reaches the end to flip through, and slides the book back at Steve. "Or whatever might help you feel better."

"I will absolutely draw you, now." There is a picture of Clint in there, from years ago. "But even if the result makes you uncomfortable, I get to keep it."

Because... well, he cares. Specifically about Clint. and he doesn't want Clint lighting his own face on fire because that shows.

"It's your art. For you. Unless you sell it to a collection or a museum or something. Then I feel like you owe some of us money."

Clint tips his head, curious. "You weren't having us pose or anything. Were you just drawing us while we were hanging out? You don't do like...traditional sit there and keep the same pose for a couple hours portraits."

"Nah. I probably would have needed that or something like a photograph to work from before the serum." He flips his book open to the back page, and retrieves the pencil. Pivots the open page faces him and sketches out a crude map, but a damn accurate one. "That's a map I saw in a hydra base in 1944. Serum changed how my mind and memory work, too."

Edited 2024-11-19 20:40 (UTC)

Clint's brows knit together, leaning over the map. He's a little incredulous, actually, when he looks back up at Steve. "Dude." Because that's incredible. "I didn't know you had photo memory. That's amazing."

That incredulity and... enthusiasm is more than enough for Steve to not give a single shit about his own mixed feelings on the subject. Hell, it makes him grin outright in a way that is pretty sincere. "I guess I didn't realize it hadn't come up. No need to model. Do whatever you feel like with the evening. I've got a picture in my head I can work from now."

Hell, he wants to get it on paper and that... is a good feeling. Enough to have him pulling the book back open and finding a clean page to start.

"I mean, maybe casually it came up? But not like-" with a motion to the map. And the art! He's just doing that shit from memory!

"God, right, uh. I'm gonna try not being self-conscious now. Gonna just...exist." Clint gives a little laugh. "Don't usually do this part with company. Or any of it, the lead-up to the mission. Gets boring sometimes. Probably just gonna do some research." There are always more targets, after all. Global operations. "Just let me know if you need anything, I guess."

The memory thing has some downsides, it came 'out of a bottle' rather than having anything to do with him, Steve's bad at any kind of attention on that stuff, and....

Right now, he doesn't care at all and none of it matters, because it's Clint and Clint might just be more present and relaxed than Steve's seen him since everything went to hell. That is a beautiful, beautiful thing.

"I can move to the bed if you need the table again. Might have to physically poke me to get my attention once I'm going, but it's not a problem." Hell, he's already getting some pale, sketched out lines onto paper, that will disappear into the finished product.

"Nah, I think we're good. I can be comfy anywhere." Given all the places he's had to spend copious amounts of time in, small spaces, uncomfortable positions, he means it.

He pulls out a laptop from his gear and settles himself back on the bed, cross-legged like when he was doodling his own map. "Don't be surprised if I end up watching over your shoulder at some point, though." Not anytime soon, probably. He's distinctly aware of Steve, taking up his allowed space, drawing Clint. But he can compartmentalize and focus on trawling the dark web, perusing known digital hangouts of tech savvy mobs, and checking up on any of his trackers. He can let them lapse into a somewhat comfortable silence, save for the light tapping of keys and the whisper of pencil on paper.

Steve resolutely refuses to consider the amount of leg flexibility and strength to pull off some of the positions he's seen Clint stay in for extended periods of time. He's not drawing that, dammit, and he doesn't want that level of distraction.

It's actually not a real issue. Once Clint settles to work, so does Steve and his focus on it turns pretty complete. His position shifts here and there - leaned over the table, head propped in his hand, leaned back in his chair with one knee braced up by the table and sketchbook against his upraised thigh, whatever - but he doesn't actually stop.

What he's drawing really is Clint. Clint as he is now, complete with incomplete tattoo on one arm, slightly too long hair, faint lines around his eyes, even the bruising on his face, but... that exact moment he got excited about Steve's memory or art or whatever it was. Not... shut off and cold but that moment of life he'd had. Getting that into a set of eyes in grayscale and pencil is by far what takes the most time and is also the last thing he does and finishes.

And Clint's confused Steve cares about him as a person. ...that picture would look very different, if Steve didn't.

At some point, Clint has to give in to curiosity. There are a few new leads but nothing more pressing than his next destination. Just places and people to keep in mind for later.

But Steve's been sketching him for what feels like an awfully long time. And he knows it'll look good, lifelike, that it'll be him on the page, but something lit a fire under Steve in a way all the logos and 2d shapes didn't.

So he peeks, just as he warned he might. Gets a drink and glances at it upside down. And then gets intrigued enough to come over Steve's shoulder. It's... It is him, yeah. He knows his own face, and Steve has spared no details, even the unflattering ones. But it's also not quite the face that looks back at him in the mirror each day, these black days. In a good way. A different way. It's hard to know how to feel about it, really, but he has to crack a joke to break his own tension over his knee.

"Doesn't look a thing like me, Rogers. You gotta get those super eyes checked."

Steve looks up and over his shoulder at Clint and cracks a grin. "I think maybe one of us is more biased than the other - and that one of us is you."

Steve likes Clint more than Clint likes Clint, and Steve knows it.

"I think one of us is being a smartass, and I can't tell who." Spoilers, it's both of them, and he knows it. Steve's grin inspires a little smile of his own, all in good fun.

"It's good." Which feels inadequate. "I looked like that once?" And also, visually, now, but in the emotional sense... "Dunno, feels like you're reaching for days long past. Which I'm not opposed to." Or maybe some of the softness and gentleness and cuddling and touches inspired a softer look out of him. Maybe he's not giving himself enough credit.

Maybe he's not giving Steve enough credit, for sure.

It's definitely both of them, though Steve--

He shakes his head a little, and taps his pencil against the drawing, right between the sketch's eyes. "That is the expression that was on your face right before I started drawing and that made me want to draw again."

You're still in there, Clint. Damaged and hurting and changed, for sure, but in there. You are still a person, not just a killing machine.

"I--" Clint blinks in surprise. "It is?" Mr. Photographic Memory wouldn't lie to him. Has not once lied to him.

His own face does something complicated. Guarded but curious but concerned but considering but--complicated. He sees the evidence in front of his face and can understand where Steve's been coming at him from. Not suggesting he isn't what he is now, but that he is also still Clint. Whatever that means these days. But it's hard to fathom. Difficult to accept. The same as taking solace in a touch. Like it isn't for him, like it's some kind of betrayal to have it.

But Steve's able to step back and see the whole of him. Not just the darkness.

"Glad I could inspire something nice," is what he eventually says.

Maybe he's not really doing Clint any favors, drawing attention to the fact that he is still a person, that he is still him just changed. Maybe he should stop not just creating space for there to be more, but almost demanding it.

But he can't just let Clint disappear entirely. Not into a global mission, not inside himself. Not when he's right there and in reach.

Steve has never wanted to touch anybody as badly as he wants to touch Clint just then. The position they're in stops him from doing it - can't do it easily so that means there's a gap to check himself - but God he wants to.

He puts the pencil down but doesn't close the book, just stays half pivoted so he can keep seeing Clint. Keeps a bit of a smile, but one that does actually reach his eyes. "So am I."

Steve's so open. Happy, in this moment at least. Genuine. And it's so hard not to let that seep into him in turn. His gaze turns from the drawing to Steve, and he's struck by that smile and that sincerity.

He ducks his head, a little smile tugging at the corner. Ah, so that's a taste of humble pie, huh. "You're good at this." And he's not exactly talking about the art, here. Clint rests a hand lightly on Steve's shoulder. "Thanks for being you."

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