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—
[He doesn't know what else to start with. Hard to get into the family's been gone for years or you've been gone for years or I don't remember how you feel about Vision right now but he's dead and gone, but this one, this one he feels brightly, a fresh pain that he knows means the world to Wanda as well. He knows this hurts her, cuts her deep, and even now, it feels unfair to drop that on her unprompted. Does the sharing make the load any lighter? Or does it just weigh them both down the same?
But she's here.
Wanda pulls her hand away, and that's fair, he thinks, fair that she might stalk away, take time to herself, resent him for this unbidden knowledge--but she remains. She is here. Her arms wrap around him, and they share in the pain, and she's here.
A dam cracks, a scab rips off, a precariously perched box falls and spills its contents everywhere. She's here, and they can share the pain, and suddenly it's hard to breathe, hard to see around the sting in his eyes. His arms feel like heavy lead, but they make their way up, tentative at first and then more sure, around Wanda.]
Thank you. [Wet and thick and heavy and choked out. She's here. In spite of everything. Because of everything. A friendship he needs to not take for granted, and distance will not save them. His breath stutters.] 'm sorry. [For not trusting her, for not trusting himself, for doing this to her, for not doing it sooner. That Natasha is gone. That it's his fault, even if Wanda doesn't know that yet.]
( when clint wraps his arms around her, she presses closer. the position is awkward, so she stops leaning down towards him; instead, she straightens, stays close, and keeps her arms at his back, rubbing gentle circles there. it's strange to see the strong men in her life break down, and though clint had always been more emotive in his discontent of things unlike the guarded steve and logical vision, she had never seen him falter to this extent. stuttered breaths and wet words, holding on like it's what he so desperately needs.
wanda knows loss. she is so intrinsically tied to death, since she was ten, that the concept of a 'happy family' or a 'home' to return to feels like a fairy tale. but even if clint hadn't faced the mortality of his loved ones until recently, it doesn't make it any less painful, any less powerful.
she manages to keep herself steeled. only a few tears spill down her cheeks, as clint's pain becomes louder and louder, so much so that wanda has no intention of shutting down. it'll take a few days for it to sink in, given that since she hasn't experienced it, it doesn't feel real to her. )
Don't.
( clint had said something similar to her, i'm sorry, when she had found pietro's body in SHIELD's custody. it wasn't kept a secret from her, at the time, that pietro had died saving clint and costel. wanda never considered it his fault, even if in her darkest hours she wanted to find someone to blame (herself, by the way). she cannot imagine that any of this is clint's fault.
she continues to rub circles on his back, and, after a sniffle, says, )
Is this why you're so often at the Dome?
( getting your ass kicked? tossing out your pent-up rage and pain? wanda doesn't feel ready to ask how it all happened, why it happened. she doesn't think it would be fair to force clint to relive it. )
[If she doesn't want his apologies, he'll try to refrain from giving them. Natasha was a sister to her; hell, at the end of the day, she was around for Wanda more than Clint had been after his (first) retirement. There's a thought--
Jesus, there's a thought that in a place as crazy as this, what if Natasha were to come rolling into town?
But he tucks that hope/fear back. He's at the Dome for a reason, for reasons, none of them good. He doesn't need the extra money, even if that's never a bad thing. He has a violence in him that needs quenched. Not an addiction, but still some kind of need or desire to do more than just shoot from a distance. It helps the bubble of anger-grief from boiling out of control. And it helps him focus. Narrows everything down to just him and his opponent. Keeps him sharp, keeps him on his toes. Makes everything else fall away for a while.
And the pain. Pain's good for focus, too. In a way he's not sure he could explain, even if he wanted to. And why shouldn't he get hit from time to time? He can take it. He deserves it.
Wanda isn't going to judge him. Still, he feels he should warn her, explain just a little:] Been in a bad place for a couple years. 's not easy to just extract yourself from that. Or to even want to.
( it's only when there's a more grounded semblance of balance on their emotions that wanda draws back, one hand left on clint's shoulder, as she moves to sit down—chair a little closer to him now. she studies his face momentarily, wondering if she'll be able to catch on to what goes unsaid.
sometimes is hardly an answer, but it seems like all he can get himself to say about it.
letting go, her hand down onto her lap, wanda leans back on her chair.
listens— )
You make the future sound really awful.
( —shakes her head, looking down at her hands. )
Clint — I don't want you to feel like you have to be perfectly fine for my sake. None of us are. You're allowed to be this.
( this version of himself, whatever it's supposed to be. whatever it's supposed to hide, protect, keep close so that he doesn't crumble. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
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. )
no subject
But she's here.
Wanda pulls her hand away, and that's fair, he thinks, fair that she might stalk away, take time to herself, resent him for this unbidden knowledge--but she remains. She is here. Her arms wrap around him, and they share in the pain, and she's here.
A dam cracks, a scab rips off, a precariously perched box falls and spills its contents everywhere. She's here, and they can share the pain, and suddenly it's hard to breathe, hard to see around the sting in his eyes. His arms feel like heavy lead, but they make their way up, tentative at first and then more sure, around Wanda.]
Thank you. [Wet and thick and heavy and choked out. She's here. In spite of everything. Because of everything. A friendship he needs to not take for granted, and distance will not save them. His breath stutters.] 'm sorry. [For not trusting her, for not trusting himself, for doing this to her, for not doing it sooner. That Natasha is gone. That it's his fault, even if Wanda doesn't know that yet.]
no subject
wanda knows loss. she is so intrinsically tied to death, since she was ten, that the concept of a 'happy family' or a 'home' to return to feels like a fairy tale. but even if clint hadn't faced the mortality of his loved ones until recently, it doesn't make it any less painful, any less powerful.
she manages to keep herself steeled. only a few tears spill down her cheeks, as clint's pain becomes louder and louder, so much so that wanda has no intention of shutting down. it'll take a few days for it to sink in, given that since she hasn't experienced it, it doesn't feel real to her. )
Don't.
( clint had said something similar to her, i'm sorry, when she had found pietro's body in SHIELD's custody. it wasn't kept a secret from her, at the time, that pietro had died saving clint and costel. wanda never considered it his fault, even if in her darkest hours she wanted to find someone to blame (herself, by the way). she cannot imagine that any of this is clint's fault.
she continues to rub circles on his back, and, after a sniffle, says, )
Is this why you're so often at the Dome?
( getting your ass kicked? tossing out your pent-up rage and pain? wanda doesn't feel ready to ask how it all happened, why it happened. she doesn't think it would be fair to force clint to relive it. )
no subject
[If she doesn't want his apologies, he'll try to refrain from giving them. Natasha was a sister to her; hell, at the end of the day, she was around for Wanda more than Clint had been after his (first) retirement. There's a thought--
Jesus, there's a thought that in a place as crazy as this, what if Natasha were to come rolling into town?
But he tucks that hope/fear back. He's at the Dome for a reason, for reasons, none of them good. He doesn't need the extra money, even if that's never a bad thing. He has a violence in him that needs quenched. Not an addiction, but still some kind of need or desire to do more than just shoot from a distance. It helps the bubble of anger-grief from boiling out of control. And it helps him focus. Narrows everything down to just him and his opponent. Keeps him sharp, keeps him on his toes. Makes everything else fall away for a while.
And the pain. Pain's good for focus, too. In a way he's not sure he could explain, even if he wanted to. And why shouldn't he get hit from time to time? He can take it. He deserves it.
Wanda isn't going to judge him. Still, he feels he should warn her, explain just a little:] Been in a bad place for a couple years. 's not easy to just extract yourself from that. Or to even want to.
no subject
sometimes is hardly an answer, but it seems like all he can get himself to say about it.
letting go, her hand down onto her lap, wanda leans back on her chair.
listens— )
You make the future sound really awful.
( —shakes her head, looking down at her hands. )
Clint — I don't want you to feel like you have to be perfectly fine for my sake. None of us are. You're allowed to be this.
( this version of himself, whatever it's supposed to be. whatever it's supposed to hide, protect, keep close so that he doesn't crumble. )