Author's note: Well, I'm really excited about seeing the second Captain America movie. Of course, this one about Hawkeye, because he's my favorite super hero. I'm also thinking about buying the graphic novel (My Life as a Weapon), to read about his story more. I haven't decided yet though, has anyone out there read it? I just wanna know if it's worth buying it. Anyway, feel free to leave a review if you have the time, I love reading them!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything at all!
In life there are many truths, straight facts that point out the way. As humans, it's not the straight lines that bring us to the end; but the spiraling twists and turns that jerks us along to the end. Those are the colors in life, as opposed to the neat black and white. The colorful spiral of lies. Life is color.
New York had fell and been almost destroyed just a week ago, and now Clint was able to be watching from the roof of the stark tower. (Tony had taken to calling it Avengers tower and though he wasn't sure if it was a joke yet, it was already beginning to be like home.) He had to admit though, watching from all the way up here was like watching dust particles in the wind; hard until he ended up standing still and squinting really hard. It could very well be his sniper eyes that let him see the people on the ground at all, though Natasha could probably find a way to assassinate from here.
Not that it was time to think about something like a shield assassination right now. Everyone was out working below, trying to get people out of ruble, find missing people and restore New York to its previous glory. He wasn't allowed to go out, as he was on permanent watch, though it wasn't bad because Tony had insisted he also come to the tower to live. So instead of have people tail him and watch his whole day, Tony's AI computer Jarvis watched him, and occasionally checked in through voice. Safe to say that he got luck, because it could be easily a hundred times worse after the whole mind control thing.
Of course that meant he wasn't allowed to leave the building though, and that the others looked at him like they weren't sure if he was going to pounce at them. He didn't blame them; he didn't really trust himself most days after the whole mind control thing. Though the others said hello when passing him in the hall, he had taken to staying in the vents and out of everyone prying eyes and dead-hearted greetings. It wasn't his fault he had been under Loki's control, though they seemed to blame him known the less. Perhaps it was easier to have someone to blame, or maybe it was because Tony hadn't been affected. If he had some sort of power, maybe he wouldn't have been affected.
Perhaps they blamed him because they thought he was weak. Maybe he was weak. He felt weak, but more than that, since this had happened, he felt very much alone. Agent Colson had been one of the closer people in his life, almost always available to talk when he needed to and now he was gone. Of course, Clint was finding that he needed someone to talk to more than ever now. Which, lead to the fact of why he had been having meaningful conversations with someone who didn't even exist. Well Jarvis doesn't really count to being an existing person, but isn't that why Tony built him? So he could talk to someone who would answer back with sass that a good friend would have. Tony pretty much built himself an imaginary friend, though he wouldn't really be surprised if Tony ended up building Jarvis an actually body before. Jarvis, the world's first cyborg, because Tony would find a way for him to be considered a cyborg instead of robot butler.
Clint wouldn't be against it though, because that would mean he could give Jarvis a high five. Jarvis deserves a high five after listening for that long to all of his problems. Though, he was pretty sure that Jarvis was physically incapable of ignoring a person when they talked to him. (Tony had probably safe claused that incase he accidently pissed the AI off that the AI had no choice but to get over it and be in his life.) Though he didn't care, it helped to know that someone was there, regardless of how real the actual person is.
He had been telling Natasha for the last few days that he was fine, that he would be fine after the rest period. He kind of wished that he believed that himself. Perhaps he should try harder at that. He left the roof and closed the door behind him; it was time to insist that he should be helping people and shields petty trust issues are less important than all those people lives that are missing or buried and trapped under wreckage still. Time to stop moping around and be useful, time to give him life meaning.
It was better after that, he worked harder after that. He didn't bother to look back after that, and so he moved forward.