too bad. i only have one container for everything.
( please, clint!! )
see you soon.
( wanda will make her way to the address clint gave her, on her motorcycle, and will stop only the one time to ask for proper directions. once she is certain she is in the right motel, in front of the correct door, she will knock.
she's got a backpack with cleaning supplies, and an actual plastic bag where the food is in a container. don't worry about cross-contamination. )
[Clint does not look any worse for wear, except that the bruises have had time to really blossom into dark blooms. So maybe a little worse. But he's not any worse.]
Hey there. [It's not much on the inside. At the end of the day, it's a motel, what do you want. There's a bed, a couple places to put things, a bathroom that works most of the time. Maybe if all his fighting and looting and working earns him enough joolies, he can upgrade to a room with a bathroom that works all the time. Lap of luxury!
The mold's not great, though. It creeps along the joints of the walls, not smothering, but more than anyone should want to have in their room. Given the amount anyone should want in their room is zero.] Make yourself at home.
( he's definitely worse than what she remembers, last time she saw him in person, sporting new bruises over his old one, and looking like he might have been braving those punches and hits he got from his opponents tonight. it's strange, considering how he's always been less of a close-combat fighter in her time knowing him, to see him like this.
but they have crossed that bridge before in the past.
wanda tries her best to make herself at home when she walks in, but it's impossible to not notice the mold on the walls. it's not bad, but it could do with being better.
she sets the bag down on the table, once she's made sure it's clean. wanda glances at him. )
Cute flying city rats that probably taste like chicken? [He's just assuming she's asking because it's on the menu.] Probably less gamey than quail.
[It's strange. To see her again, in general, and have her here, and for her to invite herself over like they're going to pretend anything is normal. She's worried, and she's got every right to be.]
I know better than to tell you you don't have to take care of me. Not gonna keep me from thinking it loudly though.
( so, it's not like she'd be able to tell or agree with his statement. still, his words don't deter her from going about opening the bag and putting the food containers down on the table. she even brought some of those wooden forks and spoons.
for clint's benefit, the food is still warm. )
Don't worry, I'll ignore your thinking, too. ( she takes a sidestep, pulling up one of the chairs at the table. ) Have a seat. It actually tastes pretty good.
( considering this is food made by a 'cook' proper and all. )
Cool, I ignore my own thinking all the time anyway.
[He isn't stiff in his movements. That'll come tomorrow, after whatever rest he gets, when the soreness really kicks in. That won't keep him from his job, obviously. Or any of his other activities. He slumps into the seat and gives the food a whiff.] Smells pretty normal, and y'know what? I'll take smells normal and tastes good around here.
[Not that the food is necessarily bad. It just...sometimes tends toward weird.]
So. You placing bets on anyone when you go watch fights?
( once he takes a seat, wanda passes him one of the wooden forks and spoons. she settles down herself, opening up her food container and mixing the rice around with the meat, getting some of the red sauce all over it.
she imagines that clint will feel more compelled to eat if he sees her doing as much, too.
a shrug initiates her answer to his question. her words then come, mumbled and a little rough. )
Don't got enough joolies for that.
( it's not really her scene, as he had surmised earlier, but clint actually participating in them makes her feel like she has to go to just make sure he isn't dead after a match. it's not entirely sound reasoning, but it makes her feel like she has a breadth of control.
a spoonful of rice into her mouth, and wanda starts chewing. it tastes good—quite excellent, too. trust sanji to make food with the ingredients here and make it feel like it's a gourmet meal.
You can make a pretty good payday off a good fight. Make a name for yourself, get noticed, put on a good show. They're good about not letting someone just come back night after night and fight themselves into a pile of bones. [This obviously doesn't keep people from straight up dying in the ring, of course. But shh.
The important part is that he's eating. He would've eaten all on his own like a big boy without her swinging by with a to-go bag, but it's nice. That she cares enough. Food is a love language all its own.
Still. He stirs it up, helps himself to a couple heaping spoonfuls, and considers her. Considers the question asked.] This isn't an intervention, is it?
( it's a bit of a consideration, should it be a painless way of making a lot of money, and fast. wanda is thankful that she isn't in a position where she feels that she has to, but it makes her wonder about the motivation of others. it's not like clint was always hungry for violence, anyway. for the type of 'job' he has (had?), he seemed to want retirement more than the next big fight to save the world.
so, when he asks, and it becomes clear to her that he has his own suspicions about her being there, wanda can't help but snort. )
What makes you think that?
( she is hardly in any position to try and tell others what to do or not do. )
I might be trying to check up on you without being obvious, ( failing, despite her efforts ) but I'm not going to tell you how to live. your life.
We can keep tabs on each other, no?
( scooping up some rice, she adds, )
You can ask me about what I'm up to, too. I didn't mean to sound like I'm interrogating you.
( there's a small, bemused smile on her features. )
[Retirement feels like a distant dream, now. To lay down his weapons and to rest. He'd spent time at home, under house arrest, indulging in making up for lost time, and now...now he's never going to get the chance again. What does retirement even look like here? What possible incentive is there to lay it all down?
Wanda has kept her promises. Hasn't, to his knowledge, pried into his head. Only skims the surface when his feelings get loud. She doesn't ask what happens (in her future), what happened (in his recent past), and gives him space, and gives him time.
She's a good person like that, and her bemusement mollifies him. He's not ashamed of his suspicions. But it's more looking out for a friend who does some stupid and dangerous stuff, make sure he doesn't die, make sure he takes some kind of care of himself, than anything to do with making him stop. He slumps a little for it with a sigh, makes to rub at his face except that hurts, so he just stuffs his face with more good food that a good friend brought when she didn't need to. He's being kind of ungrateful about it, huh? That he can feel a twinge of shame about.]
Sorry. You're right, sorry, guess I'm just...being paranoid. We all need all the friends we can get out here, right? [What a concept. Friends. People to rely on. He'd started to let himself fall back into old habits with the team, and then he fell and fell and fell, and made himself reset back to relying on only himself, surrounded by potentially dangerous strangers.] You been up to anything interesting? Besides watching stupid old men in a fighting ring?
( to be paranoid, if that's what he wants to be; especially in a city like this, with so many unknowns, so many variables, so many strangers. wanda doesn't think it's wrong to feel that way, and sometimes she wonders if she hadn't been taken in by sanji and the rest of his (current) crew if she wouldn't be feeling exactly the same. perhaps she's even been softened up a touch.
so long as clint understands that he doesn't have to be entirely alone, that much is alright. it's not like she's going to babysit him, anyway, and there's a familial pull towards him. )
How old are you again? Seventy, right? ( —she jests— ) I helped someone dye their hair green the other night. I work some boring jobs.
Feels like ninety. [He is perfectly good for joking about how old he is. He sure as hell feels old some days.] Too old to be getting crazy hair colors. What do you think, should I go bright purple, the kind that lights up under a blacklight? [but like don't tho... He runs a hand through the growing out something-hawk he's had going on for a while.] Guess maybe I should get some kind of touch up anyway.
[Quiet. Boring. He hasn't had either of those in years. He did, for a time. Stuck at home driving Laura a little crazy with more home reno projects. Teaching the kids all sorts of things. Quality time. Making up for so much lost time. He can't imagine it now.
Could he imagine it like this? Quiet conversation with a friend who feels like family? (Someone else lost to a madman's quest, a snap of the fingers-)]
You think you could be happy here? With the quiet and boring and occasionally weird.
( the idea of clint going colorful with his hair is enough to make wanda hit a fit of giggles, leaning back and putting down her spoon, as to not do something impulsively to toss her food around accidentally. if he really wanted to, wanda would be happy to help him with that, if that's what he'd want—
though, in her opinion, he looks perfectly fine as is.
but it's his question that draws her back from that moment of mirth, taking in a deep breath, exhaling. )
I am happy.
( she admits, even to herself. if she were to think about it, a kind of sadness, that unrelenting ocean of grief, remains, is unrelenting; here, though, she is free, not just from the raft, but from a world that doesn't seem to want her in it. here, she gets to be some semblance of normal, and the occasional weird perhaps helps with the monotony, for those like clint and herself, who have already dipped themselves into the weird of the world. )
The guy who cooked this... Sanji, we're roommates. I think we're friends. ( with a light smile, she adds, ) He's a pirate, he says, and his crew — Zoro and Nami, they're here, too. We live together. They're strange in their own way, but I — feel that I am one of them.
( the way she's been taken in, by this group of young adults who can manage on their own but seem to just be doing the best they can under the circumstances, who mess up, who fight each other, but who come around together every time, it's—
it's just like how it used to be, when she had pietro, when she had her friends, in sokovia, when she had a home.
belonged.
the thought alone brings a grimace to her expression, rubbing the heel of her palm against her eye, to dissuade the forming tears from spilling. pietro's absence rings so hollowly inside her, ever present. with that same hand, she reaches over the table, to grab at clint's hand, even if she only reaches his wrist right now. )
...but it's okay if you don't think you could be happy here.
Has he been that blind, that caught up in himself, that he didn't bother to see it?
She has people. She has people that like her, that she likes, in a place where she feels like she can belong instead of being alone, being an outcast. Here, she doesn't need to be confronted with the obliteration of her own country's existence day in and day out. Here, she doesn't need to hide who she is, but also is free to navigate this world without having to rely on her powers. There's no superhero team here. Just people getting by. She's allowed to be that, a person getting by. She's being that. In a world where she won't get locked up for doing the right thing, she's just being.
There's a venomous part of him that reinforces what he's been quietly telling Wanda, that she shouldn't hang on to a sad and tired old man, whispers that she doesn't need to drag herself down like that, that she doesn't need to bloody her hands by holding onto his. But there's also the part that recognizes that this is family. This is family. And they both need that more than anything. She's just more capable of growing her own family here just as well as she can hold onto the family that's followed her here.
His hand turns in her grip, palm up on the table, to hold and to be held in return. The concept of happiness has been so fucking fleeting over five years. Misery and misery upon misery until Natasha had brought hope. And here, here there are moments where he thinks he reaches something adjacent to happy, something that makes him laugh, meets someone that brings a brief smile to his face. But could he be happy here?
Could he be happy anywhere anymore?
He could try. For Wanda. It seems almost absurd, the grief settled onto him like a second skin, but if he can dig himself out...if he can at least try and make the effort--]
Wanda... [His voice creaks, and he has to clear his throat to try and dislodge the glass shards lining it.] You know things have happened. Things you don't know about yet, things you don't ask about. And I don't want to burden you with the knowledge of things you can't do anything about, because that doesn't seem fair. I don't think it's fair to drag you down for no good reason.
[Is that reasonable, or is that an excuse?]
I don't know. I still have days I'm not sure I'm not dead. I don't know that I can be happy here, but if you're happy...that helps. And maybe I'd like to meet this pirate crew of yours.
( perhaps it is selfish of her, too, the fact that clint has been drowning in the tragedies that he doesn't tell her about. because of all these reasons he states, of it not being fair, of there not being a good reason to be dragged down with him, into whatever pit of despair he is struggling to climb out of. wanda holds onto his hand tighter, food—for now—forgotten.
while she doesn't poke and prod into his mind to get the answers herself, it's impossible to quiet down the noise of his emotions filtering through. this misery, this darkness.
it worries her, but she isn't sure she knows how exactly she can do more, other than just being here, like she is; if clint even wants more from her. she remains quiet throughout what he says, thoughtful, wondering if this is enough. )
They might think you're cool. Archer and all. ( with perfect aim— ) They're younger than me, though, so don't get all protective about it.
( it's a light jab at his expense, at his always worrying for those he grows attached to.
she squeezes his hand, leaning a little closer, against the table. )
I'm... sorry. That you can't tell me these things. I do want to help however I can.
You're the one gonna get all protective about them, huh. [It's a nice thought. Her running around with a ragtag group of kids getting into trouble, being the one to be the voice of reason (or encouragement, depending). He doesn't ask if they know what she can do. Because it isn't-- Well, it's important, yeah, but them liking her for her is more important. If they find out and turn on her, then fuck them.] Promise I won't give any of them a shovel talk. [She's too old for that anyway. Even if the dad in him always was determined that none of his kids were going to date until they were thirty, and she's...
She's not one of his kids. She's been an adult since they met. But she's still family far as he's concerned.
And maybe all of that means he's been too protective. She's offering help. She's offering her place as friend and family to try and help him, even if he can't see how, even if he can't see much more than the occasional pinprick of light at the end of the long long tunnel. But he can't just dump years of shit on her. He won't do that to her. He can't tell her that she's going to be on the run and fall in love and lose that love, that she and half the entire universe are going to get wiped from existence, that he didn't know what to do with himself with an empty house and empty heart. Maybe if he explains that they might all be back, that Bruce did it, he thinks they did it, that the sacrifices weren't in vain, whatever it takes--
His body slouches forward, both closer to her, and letting himself feel all the weight. Five years have felt like fifty. What does he do with this person he's become? Stay on the path, or try to see what's salvageable underneath? If they're all here forever (dubious claim but so far have found no reason to dispute it), whether alive or dead, then doesn't he owe it to himself to make something better? Fuck, doesn't he owe that to Laura?
Doesn't he owe that to--]
Natasha's dead.
[He squeezes Wanda's hand like a lifeline, his eyes darting between her face and a middle distance.]
The circumstances are... [He makes to rub at his face with his free hand but doesn't quite get there before he just makes an empty gesture with it instead, falling heavy back to the table after.] complicated to get into, but. Yeah. She's dead. It's not that I can't tell you these things. [They're hard. They're enormous and they're hard. But he can tell her. If he means to, he can muster through it. She can easily feel the pain, fresh and vibrant, without having to look. It radiates off him. He was falling before he got here; it'd be irony to die that way after Nat was determined to make sure he didn't fall. His throat wants to close up, voice getting quiet and thick.] I don't...don't know what help looks like. For something like that.
[And now she knows. Someone else she was close to, gone. Does he qualify that they got to spend a few more years together before that? On the run, sure, but free of the Raft? But if Wanda hasn't experienced that, does it matter? What does any of it mean here? What good, then, does it do Wanda to know that tidbit of information except hurt her?
It's a whisper, it's even quieter than a whisper:] I'm sorry.
( the words reach her ears, but wanda doesn't feel the emotion that hits her at the admittance first. the tight squeeze to her hand is what she feels instead, thoughts railing in her mind emptily, trying to grasp at what all exactly clint is saying—almost like his words make no sense to her, cannot be made sense of. it explains so much about why clint is asking the way he is, why he cannot seem to contain himself within the presence of a man he used to be; why he clings to solitude and anger the way he does, almost treating her approaches to help and be there for him as unwanted.
it just makes sense, even if it seems to wanda that there is more here than what he tells. these 'circumstances' that are 'complicated to get into'. things from her future that will come to pass, but should not be burdened by.
a future where natasha is dead?
for all their most recent conflict with the avengers splitting up, she was vaguely aware that natasha changed her mind. natasha, who took her in, who helped her assimilate to life in america, taught her the ropes, despite her grief and moodiness; natasha is dead? the way her emotions cave in is from the shock, her eyes only now glancing up to look at clint's face proper, tears threatening to spill; she feels empty, devoid of anything, because this is how clint feels.
standing up (she somehow finds herself still attached to the laws of gravity, by some miracle), wanda pulls her hand away from clint's, but draws only a few steps closer to lean down, to wrap her arms around his shoulders. )
I'm here.
(i don't know what help looks like. for something like that.
when wanda lost pietro, nothing felt right. nothing would ever make it right. what does help for that look like? she didn't know, either, back then. now, she still doesn't know. just putting one foot in front of the other, one day at a time. but clint was there, as was steve, vision, natasha. maybe she won't be able to help at all with these feelings, with this reality that awaits her in the future, that awaits them back home, but—
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we got the place cleaned up pretty well.
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( please, clint!! )
see you soon.
( wanda will make her way to the address clint gave her, on her motorcycle, and will stop only the one time to ask for proper directions. once she is certain she is in the right motel, in front of the correct door, she will knock.
she's got a backpack with cleaning supplies, and an actual plastic bag where the food is in a container. don't worry about cross-contamination. )
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Hey there. [It's not much on the inside. At the end of the day, it's a motel, what do you want. There's a bed, a couple places to put things, a bathroom that works most of the time. Maybe if all his fighting and looting and working earns him enough joolies, he can upgrade to a room with a bathroom that works all the time. Lap of luxury!
The mold's not great, though. It creeps along the joints of the walls, not smothering, but more than anyone should want to have in their room. Given the amount anyone should want in their room is zero.] Make yourself at home.
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but they have crossed that bridge before in the past.
wanda tries her best to make herself at home when she walks in, but it's impossible to not notice the mold on the walls. it's not bad, but it could do with being better.
she sets the bag down on the table, once she's made sure it's clean. wanda glances at him. )
How do you feel about pigeon?
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[It's strange. To see her again, in general, and have her here, and for her to invite herself over like they're going to pretend anything is normal. She's worried, and she's got every right to be.]
I know better than to tell you you don't have to take care of me. Not gonna keep me from thinking it loudly though.
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( so, it's not like she'd be able to tell or agree with his statement. still, his words don't deter her from going about opening the bag and putting the food containers down on the table. she even brought some of those wooden forks and spoons.
for clint's benefit, the food is still warm. )
Don't worry, I'll ignore your thinking, too. ( she takes a sidestep, pulling up one of the chairs at the table. ) Have a seat. It actually tastes pretty good.
( considering this is food made by a 'cook' proper and all. )
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[He isn't stiff in his movements. That'll come tomorrow, after whatever rest he gets, when the soreness really kicks in. That won't keep him from his job, obviously. Or any of his other activities. He slumps into the seat and gives the food a whiff.] Smells pretty normal, and y'know what? I'll take smells normal and tastes good around here.
[Not that the food is necessarily bad. It just...sometimes tends toward weird.]
So. You placing bets on anyone when you go watch fights?
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she imagines that clint will feel more compelled to eat if he sees her doing as much, too.
a shrug initiates her answer to his question. her words then come, mumbled and a little rough. )
Don't got enough joolies for that.
( it's not really her scene, as he had surmised earlier, but clint actually participating in them makes her feel like she has to go to just make sure he isn't dead after a match. it's not entirely sound reasoning, but it makes her feel like she has a breadth of control.
a spoonful of rice into her mouth, and wanda starts chewing. it tastes good—quite excellent, too. trust sanji to make food with the ingredients here and make it feel like it's a gourmet meal.
now, a question of her own: )
Do you make a lot by fighting?
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The important part is that he's eating. He would've eaten all on his own like a big boy without her swinging by with a to-go bag, but it's nice. That she cares enough. Food is a love language all its own.
Still. He stirs it up, helps himself to a couple heaping spoonfuls, and considers her. Considers the question asked.] This isn't an intervention, is it?
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so, when he asks, and it becomes clear to her that he has his own suspicions about her being there, wanda can't help but snort. )
What makes you think that?
( she is hardly in any position to try and tell others what to do or not do. )
I might be trying to check up on you without being obvious, ( failing, despite her efforts ) but I'm not going to tell you how to live. your life.
We can keep tabs on each other, no?
( scooping up some rice, she adds, )
You can ask me about what I'm up to, too. I didn't mean to sound like I'm interrogating you.
( there's a small, bemused smile on her features. )
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Wanda has kept her promises. Hasn't, to his knowledge, pried into his head. Only skims the surface when his feelings get loud. She doesn't ask what happens (in her future), what happened (in his recent past), and gives him space, and gives him time.
She's a good person like that, and her bemusement mollifies him. He's not ashamed of his suspicions. But it's more looking out for a friend who does some stupid and dangerous stuff, make sure he doesn't die, make sure he takes some kind of care of himself, than anything to do with making him stop. He slumps a little for it with a sigh, makes to rub at his face except that hurts, so he just stuffs his face with more good food that a good friend brought when she didn't need to. He's being kind of ungrateful about it, huh? That he can feel a twinge of shame about.]
Sorry. You're right, sorry, guess I'm just...being paranoid. We all need all the friends we can get out here, right? [What a concept. Friends. People to rely on. He'd started to let himself fall back into old habits with the team, and then he fell and fell and fell, and made himself reset back to relying on only himself, surrounded by potentially dangerous strangers.] You been up to anything interesting? Besides watching stupid old men in a fighting ring?
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( to be paranoid, if that's what he wants to be; especially in a city like this, with so many unknowns, so many variables, so many strangers. wanda doesn't think it's wrong to feel that way, and sometimes she wonders if she hadn't been taken in by sanji and the rest of his (current) crew if she wouldn't be feeling exactly the same. perhaps she's even been softened up a touch.
so long as clint understands that he doesn't have to be entirely alone, that much is alright. it's not like she's going to babysit him, anyway, and there's a familial pull towards him. )
How old are you again? Seventy, right? ( —she jests— ) I helped someone dye their hair green the other night. I work some boring jobs.
( a shrug. )
Quiet and boring is nice.
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[Quiet. Boring. He hasn't had either of those in years. He did, for a time. Stuck at home driving Laura a little crazy with more home reno projects. Teaching the kids all sorts of things. Quality time. Making up for so much lost time. He can't imagine it now.
Could he imagine it like this? Quiet conversation with a friend who feels like family? (Someone else lost to a madman's quest, a snap of the fingers-)]
You think you could be happy here? With the quiet and boring and occasionally weird.
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though, in her opinion, he looks perfectly fine as is.
but it's his question that draws her back from that moment of mirth, taking in a deep breath, exhaling. )
I am happy.
( she admits, even to herself. if she were to think about it, a kind of sadness, that unrelenting ocean of grief, remains, is unrelenting; here, though, she is free, not just from the raft, but from a world that doesn't seem to want her in it. here, she gets to be some semblance of normal, and the occasional weird perhaps helps with the monotony, for those like clint and herself, who have already dipped themselves into the weird of the world. )
The guy who cooked this... Sanji, we're roommates. I think we're friends. ( with a light smile, she adds, ) He's a pirate, he says, and his crew — Zoro and Nami, they're here, too. We live together. They're strange in their own way, but I — feel that I am one of them.
( the way she's been taken in, by this group of young adults who can manage on their own but seem to just be doing the best they can under the circumstances, who mess up, who fight each other, but who come around together every time, it's—
it's just like how it used to be, when she had pietro, when she had her friends, in sokovia, when she had a home.
belonged.
the thought alone brings a grimace to her expression, rubbing the heel of her palm against her eye, to dissuade the forming tears from spilling. pietro's absence rings so hollowly inside her, ever present. with that same hand, she reaches over the table, to grab at clint's hand, even if she only reaches his wrist right now. )
...but it's okay if you don't think you could be happy here.
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Has he been that blind, that caught up in himself, that he didn't bother to see it?
She has people. She has people that like her, that she likes, in a place where she feels like she can belong instead of being alone, being an outcast. Here, she doesn't need to be confronted with the obliteration of her own country's existence day in and day out. Here, she doesn't need to hide who she is, but also is free to navigate this world without having to rely on her powers. There's no superhero team here. Just people getting by. She's allowed to be that, a person getting by. She's being that. In a world where she won't get locked up for doing the right thing, she's just being.
There's a venomous part of him that reinforces what he's been quietly telling Wanda, that she shouldn't hang on to a sad and tired old man, whispers that she doesn't need to drag herself down like that, that she doesn't need to bloody her hands by holding onto his. But there's also the part that recognizes that this is family. This is family. And they both need that more than anything. She's just more capable of growing her own family here just as well as she can hold onto the family that's followed her here.
His hand turns in her grip, palm up on the table, to hold and to be held in return. The concept of happiness has been so fucking fleeting over five years. Misery and misery upon misery until Natasha had brought hope. And here, here there are moments where he thinks he reaches something adjacent to happy, something that makes him laugh, meets someone that brings a brief smile to his face. But could he be happy here?
Could he be happy anywhere anymore?
He could try. For Wanda. It seems almost absurd, the grief settled onto him like a second skin, but if he can dig himself out...if he can at least try and make the effort--]
Wanda... [His voice creaks, and he has to clear his throat to try and dislodge the glass shards lining it.] You know things have happened. Things you don't know about yet, things you don't ask about. And I don't want to burden you with the knowledge of things you can't do anything about, because that doesn't seem fair. I don't think it's fair to drag you down for no good reason.
[Is that reasonable, or is that an excuse?]
I don't know. I still have days I'm not sure I'm not dead. I don't know that I can be happy here, but if you're happy...that helps. And maybe I'd like to meet this pirate crew of yours.
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while she doesn't poke and prod into his mind to get the answers herself, it's impossible to quiet down the noise of his emotions filtering through. this misery, this darkness.
it worries her, but she isn't sure she knows how exactly she can do more, other than just being here, like she is; if clint even wants more from her. she remains quiet throughout what he says, thoughtful, wondering if this is enough. )
They might think you're cool. Archer and all. ( with perfect aim— ) They're younger than me, though, so don't get all protective about it.
( it's a light jab at his expense, at his always worrying for those he grows attached to.
she squeezes his hand, leaning a little closer, against the table. )
I'm... sorry. That you can't tell me these things. I do want to help however I can.
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She's not one of his kids. She's been an adult since they met. But she's still family far as he's concerned.
And maybe all of that means he's been too protective. She's offering help. She's offering her place as friend and family to try and help him, even if he can't see how, even if he can't see much more than the occasional pinprick of light at the end of the long long tunnel. But he can't just dump years of shit on her. He won't do that to her. He can't tell her that she's going to be on the run and fall in love and lose that love, that she and half the entire universe are going to get wiped from existence, that he didn't know what to do with himself with an empty house and empty heart. Maybe if he explains that they might all be back, that Bruce did it, he thinks they did it, that the sacrifices weren't in vain, whatever it takes--
His body slouches forward, both closer to her, and letting himself feel all the weight. Five years have felt like fifty. What does he do with this person he's become? Stay on the path, or try to see what's salvageable underneath? If they're all here forever (dubious claim but so far have found no reason to dispute it), whether alive or dead, then doesn't he owe it to himself to make something better? Fuck, doesn't he owe that to Laura?
Doesn't he owe that to--]
Natasha's dead.
[He squeezes Wanda's hand like a lifeline, his eyes darting between her face and a middle distance.]
The circumstances are... [He makes to rub at his face with his free hand but doesn't quite get there before he just makes an empty gesture with it instead, falling heavy back to the table after.] complicated to get into, but. Yeah. She's dead. It's not that I can't tell you these things. [They're hard. They're enormous and they're hard. But he can tell her. If he means to, he can muster through it. She can easily feel the pain, fresh and vibrant, without having to look. It radiates off him. He was falling before he got here; it'd be irony to die that way after Nat was determined to make sure he didn't fall. His throat wants to close up, voice getting quiet and thick.] I don't...don't know what help looks like. For something like that.
[And now she knows. Someone else she was close to, gone. Does he qualify that they got to spend a few more years together before that? On the run, sure, but free of the Raft? But if Wanda hasn't experienced that, does it matter? What does any of it mean here? What good, then, does it do Wanda to know that tidbit of information except hurt her?
It's a whisper, it's even quieter than a whisper:] I'm sorry.
no subject
it just makes sense, even if it seems to wanda that there is more here than what he tells. these 'circumstances' that are 'complicated to get into'. things from her future that will come to pass, but should not be burdened by.
a future where natasha is dead?
for all their most recent conflict with the avengers splitting up, she was vaguely aware that natasha changed her mind. natasha, who took her in, who helped her assimilate to life in america, taught her the ropes, despite her grief and moodiness; natasha is dead? the way her emotions cave in is from the shock, her eyes only now glancing up to look at clint's face proper, tears threatening to spill; she feels empty, devoid of anything, because this is how clint feels.
standing up (she somehow finds herself still attached to the laws of gravity, by some miracle), wanda pulls her hand away from clint's, but draws only a few steps closer to lean down, to wrap her arms around his shoulders. )
I'm here.
( i don't know what help looks like. for something like that.
when wanda lost pietro, nothing felt right. nothing would ever make it right. what does help for that look like? she didn't know, either, back then. now, she still doesn't know. just putting one foot in front of the other, one day at a time. but clint was there, as was steve, vision, natasha. maybe she won't be able to help at all with these feelings, with this reality that awaits her in the future, that awaits them back home, but—
she's here. )