[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. )
[Her assessment of the future is rewarded with a tired cough of laughter, a barely-there wry pull of his mouth. Yeah, that's cuz the future sucks, but he doesn't say that. Doesn't say that yet, anyway. It's hard to know if that's even okay. She's happy here. What happens if she doesn't go back? What happens if she can't? What happens if she won't? She's happy here. She doesn't need all of that on her shoulders.
Maybe he doesn't need all this on his, either. He just doesn't know how to let it go.]
You were always welcome at home, on the farm. You know that, right? [After the original team became brand new uncles to the kids, that expanded to the new team, too. All good people who might sometimes need a little time living a slightly more rustic life chopping wood and running the tractor and feeding the chickens.] You're always welcome here, too. Or wherever I am. Even if I'm being a surly bastard about it.
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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. )
no subject
Maybe he doesn't need all this on his, either. He just doesn't know how to let it go.]
You were always welcome at home, on the farm. You know that, right? [After the original team became brand new uncles to the kids, that expanded to the new team, too. All good people who might sometimes need a little time living a slightly more rustic life chopping wood and running the tractor and feeding the chickens.] You're always welcome here, too. Or wherever I am. Even if I'm being a surly bastard about it.