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Steve is pretty sure he can do this and not talk about himself indefinitely. Sadly, he's pretty sure if he expects Clint to talk, he's going to have to. Not that he'd know what to say.

Meanwhile after he gets that... unwanted and unexpected emotional release, undignified though it is, he sleeps and he sleeps hard. Especially for a guy who can, under pressure, go days with no sleep and didn't really expect to sleep at all.

In fact he barely stirs for hours and when he does it's because the light insists on stabbing him in the eyes. He groans as he straightens out and stretches. Then pretty much rolls out of the bed and then up to his feet. Still groggy but headed for the bathroom and then to start coffee.

Steve moving means it's awake time, and daylight means he probably shouldn't roll over and go back to sleep, even if the temptation is there. Clint flops to his stomach, sprawled over the vacated spot with an impetuous sound, and regrets the little things, like being alive and conscious. Ugh. Who invented that?

When he pushes himself up, he can feel the protest in his shoulders, the stiffness in his neck threatening to become a raging tension headache, the way it feels like each and every rib throbs with his pulse.

Well, the workout this morning is going to be a fun one, but he'll push through. Coffee first. Always coffee first. He gives Steve's sketchbook a glance when he shuffles into the kitchen, but it's closed and he's not about to snoop, not just yet.

Steve sets the bottle of Aleve beside his sketchbook on the table between getting coffee brewing and pulling mugs down.

The silence isn't a refusal to talk, or awkward for him. It's just being unusually sleepy and a little... stuck in his head, trying to work out what the fuck happened with him last night, and thinking about Clint's... activity for the day, and his own positioning and mental preparation for the potential for it to go straight to hell. Just fragmented nonsense that doesn't want to (and Steve doesn't want to) turn into anything too real.

Once he does talk? It's pretty normal. "I don't think I've slept that hard in a decade. I kinda feel like I got hit by a truck and I don't even have anything physical to blame it on. You doing ok?"

"Ouch. Could at least pretend I gave you a hard workout for pride's sake." He gives a nod of thanks for the pills, because yes of course he's going to down an unhealthy amount again. Just for today. "You look like shit. But like, well-rested shit, so you must've really needed that sleep."

He knows if he simply ignores the question, Steve will still want an answer. His movements are a little clunky, so he's clearly not great, but the question is probably also from an emotional standpoint. So. Better figure out an answer.

"Stiff as a board and hoping to do some solid work today." Tonight, whatever. It's not a great answer and he knows it.

"If my ego can handle looking like shit, yours can take my stupid stamina," he says, watching the coffee, rather than looking directly at Clint. "I'm going to try to get out of here for a few hours again this morning. Probably go for a run or swim, come back, shower and settle down out of the way and draw while you take care of what you need to get ready. Head out after you and get into a position I can watch from and keep being out of the way." Be ready to help Clint with clean up. Follow the plan they already had in place, basically.

He should probably just admit that he wasn't prepared to be the one who's subconscious decided it was relatively safe, then started trying to collapse. He might. It won't be before Clint takes care of this. That's just... dangerous at this point, even if it might serve some purpose later.

"Do what you need to, and I'll do what I need to. And then..."

Ah. An elephant in the room? "And then I guess we part ways for a while. You were saying you might bounce back and forth? Go back home, then come track me down, do the song and dance over again?"

"Unless you have some heavy objections, the plan is to go back and check in with Natasha and maybe go find Tony and let him get it out of his system so he can really settle down. Find you again."

No way, no how, far too fundamentally honest to even think about using the word home in that one. "Probably not going to leave until dawn tomorrow, though."

Edited 2024-11-21 17:59 (UTC)

"You think he hasn't settled down yet?" Maybe he hasn't. He hasn't known Tony to settle for anything, really, but then again, he hasn't seen the guy in years. And that last time wasn't altogether pleasant. "Hope I didn't inspire you to also go out picking fights."

"I don't know how to answer that one. I think he's making a good attempt to build a life for himself, but he's got some shit he needs to get off his chest and that I'm past being able to be hurt by anything he says or does. It's not going to be a fight though, and if it's inspired by you it's only in the sense that I've had a few days of breathing room and stopped... flailing around."

He pours the coffee when it's done and holds the first mug out to Clint.

Edited (have not haven't.) 2024-11-21 18:17 (UTC)

"Pretty sure he already had a life for himself built. A whole empire, even." He'll take the coffee, blessed caffeinated warmth, with a thanks. "You think it's wise to try and be everyone's therapist when you need a little help yourself?"

"I'm not playing therapist, I'm letting him use me as a verbal punching bag. I am sure as hell not playing therapist to you. The entire ass support group back there, maybe, but I apparently do a good enough job of faking it for them." He shrugs, and leaves Tony alone. The kind of life he's trying to make is a different kind of thing, and... He can't even imagine it beyond knowing that it's something he wants Tony to have, if he can. Ideally without a shit ton of repressed anger.

"The hell you aren't. Just cuz you get something out of it, too, doesn't make it not therapy." Clint leans on the counter, bobbing his brows up. "Support group, huh?"

Steve absolutely blatantly ignores the 'accusation' that he's being therapy for Clint, because he recognizes that his response is pure defensiveness and almost feeling...rejected or accused of something by that statement in ways that make no goddamn sense.

the rest: "Yeah. I'm Captain America. I'm a symbol of hope now. I am fantastic at it." He's not joking but his tone is just dry as hell.

"Sounds like it's doing wonders for you." Clint doesn't need to roll his eyes to get the point across. But he will anyway. "No wonder you wanted to get away from it all. Sounds...depressing. You got a lotta people there?"

"Nat's done a pretty good job of keeping me... reasonable." Which is about as far as he's going with that. "Turning up at these things looking for a reason to stay alive? There's some variation. Probably a couple of dozen."

Clint makes a humming noise into his coffee. But doesn't make a nasty aside that's in his head about how many more people have probably chosen to not find reasons.

"Nat's a good stabilizing force. She's always been real grounded."

"Most of the time." She's not immune to struggling, either, but he at least hopes they're... managing to hold onto some kind of balance and function between them. Maybe. Fuck if he knows.

"I'm gonna go get that run. Expect me back in a couple of hours. Don't let me startle you when I come in."

"'m not gonna be startled. You're good." He almost wants to say something like 'good luck', but that seems weird for just going out for a bit. Do whatever he needs to get his head on straight or make sure he's good to go. Get air. Get away from Clint.

No, that's not the right thought. That's not it. He'll remind himself that's not it.

He'll get his exercises in, though. No matter how stiff he is, that'll help un-stiffen them. A thorough shower to help even more. Food. And then getting out everything he needs for a fun evening. That won't take him the whole entire day, but it'll help him center himself at any rate.

Away from Clint is not it. Sustained movement and air are.

Steve pulls on his shoes and is actually out for a little more than two hours, but he does at least come back damp around the edges with sweat and moving easier.

He's not careful in coming in, but still sort of announces himself by saying, "I'm gonna grab a fast shower and change." At least he actually just went out in the sweats he slept in, which means he has clean clothes to change into. ...cleanish clothes, god next time he does this he needs to pack better.

It's honestly not as long as Clint expecting. Still a little damp from his own shower, even, and starting to get supplies out. Black fabric on the bed with a hint of gold. And the weapons are going to be laid out along the table and counter. It's easier when it's just him, obviously, so he has to now be mindful of his guest.

"Let me know if you need any space when you're out. Can clear something off for you."

"Nope. Do what you need to do. I'll settle down on the floor and keep myself busy." For however many hours it takes. "Just give me a few minutes to get cleaned up so I don't interrupt anything you need concentration to do."

"You're good." Or at least he's fairly certain Steve will be good to do whatever. There's a little twinge of feeling bad about how bored Steve might be, even for how he insisted he was fine with it, used to it. Hey, there's always the tv, and drawing. "And, I dunno, if you want to watch me be boring, you can, too."

Steve will do whatever, yeah. He flashes Clint a slightly wry smile and, "Oh, I will." Then disappears into the bathroom for a shower he actually really needs, and to get into clean clothes.

When he comes out, he turns the television on low, and settles down with his sketchbook, uplifted knees working as a 'desk' and is absolutely fine with that. Though he does watch Clint quite a bit. Not overly intensely, but watches.

He becomes aware of the eyes on him. And it might be distracting at first, but that's just part and parcel of this whole little ritual. Weed out distractions. Regain focus, sharp as the edge of his katana.

Clint starts with the smaller weapons. A few throwing knives, several shuriken. Each one gets the same amount of thorough attention. Sharpened on a whetstone with smooth, precise motions. Until each edge is to a demanding satisfaction. Polished after, not a trace of grit nor finger smudge left. They are packed away neatly and safely where he'll strap them to his person later, easily on hand.

He does the same with the retractable sword. It still looks good for all the cleaning he did on it already, but this, too, goes through the same careful and thorough treatment, movements easy and practiced. Distraction falls away. The plan is in mind, solidified. His hands are steady, his features stone. His gaze leaves nothing to chance each time he holds his blade out against the light, inspecting the edge. Until he finally polishes that as well and sets it aside, cleaning up the supplies.

The uniform, such as it is, does require him to move back into the bedroom space, but his focus never seems to waver. Every seam is inspected. Leather gets polished. Each bit of armor is looked over for integrity.

When the work seems at last finished, everything is set out on the bed as though waiting for someone to inhabit the silhouette it forms. And Clint breathes in deep, holds it with eyes sliding shut, and lets it go again slow and easy.

And now the wait. But he feels, in a way, that he can face anything with the same deadly countenance as the Ronin. That includes patience.

He did not forget that Steve is there. It's just that Steve became background noise.

Once settled into an out of the way spot, Steve makes a point to stay there for the duration.

He does not make a thing of being completely motionless. He still works on that sketch, getting Clint included because there's something striking about his focus on the edges of all those blades, against a backdrop of a really pretty view. He pays enough attention to the television to follow the story-line off and on. He just doesn't get up and move around or do anything that will actively move him out of the background, or in any way draw particular amounts of attention.

That holds even through Clint coming closer to check his 'uniform', and keeps holding through the more obvious mental shift. He does stop a moment, look up and tilt his head a little to take the chance to study Clint's face, how he's standing, where he's holding his weight, what the visible bruising on his body looks like.

Once he's satisfied though, he just goes back to drawing. Like he is not also going to go out a few minutes after Clint, get on a roof and keep right on watching from a reasonable physical (and emotional) distance.

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