(A/N) I've been having these weird Clint/Loki feels since I watched Avengers, I'm trying to write through them...I don't know what this is exactly. Also, I've never written them before, so sorry if they're a bit out of character.
"I understand you."
He hates those words; he wishes they would go away and stop invading his mind. They're like the sticky resin of an infected wound; they tack up into the walls of his mind and slide down, itchy and slow to heal. The others don't see it, those who pass through the mansion that is, all they see is a man once controlled and the dark circles under his eyes of restless nights. Natasha sees he's pretty sure she does, because he's caught her watching him when they're in a room together for more than a few seconds. Like he'll turn on her again and she'll have to fight tooth and nail to get him back. It's tiring to be the one everyone is on edge about, he doesn't blame them though, if Loki could control them with simply a touch of a staff, what else could he manage?
The meetings, their 'rendezvous' if you will, started a week ago and none too quietly either. Clint had been standing in the middle of the shooting range in the lower levels of the mansion, eyes closed as he breathed in and out rhythmically, focusing on his body when a painfully familiar voice weaved its way into the air. Tension shot through his nervous system and the resulting blast of his arrow passing through the apparition and exploding against the wall echoed inside the room.
Before him stood Loki, pale faced and tall with a smirk he'd like to punch off the god's smug face. He held his arms out in a welcoming gesture and spoke again, "Is that anyway to greet me? I did give you freedom of mind did I not?"
Clint took a step back, not for a second would he let the man out of his sight, "How are you here right now?"
Loki gave him a considering look as if deciding whether he really wanted to tell or not, "If you must know, I'm projecting my image, my body is in Asgard."
He stood there for a moment, looking the apparition over before walking forward and indulging in the oldest of human weaknesses, curiosity. Carefully he swings his bow out and watches it pass through the middle of the god's image. Circling he inspects further, the god looked so real it could've fooled anyone.
"You don't look well Agent Barton, been having trouble sleeping?"
"How's it being back home?" Clint sneers back as he walks away.
He swipes his hand across the control pad on the wall, his fingers dialing in numbers quickly and activating a program of targets. The silence following him around, as Loki watches, is unsettling and Clint doesn't bother to wonder why Loki hasn't taken his eyes off of him. Those cold, emerald eyes that crinkle at the edges as if amused by him were unwavering.
After the last round of flying targets he stops, chest heaving a little from running to avoid the projectiles that had weapons he slumped down against a wall and inspected his bow.
"What do you dream of, Agent Barton, that keeps you up at night?"
Staring at the man is like acknowledging the subject of his nightmares, of his dreams and he's sure Loki is clever enough to see it in his eyes.
"I understand you."
Clint lets another exploding arrow fly and when the smoke clears he's alone.
/
At night his dreams are filled of things that happened while under the staff's encompassing control, he dreams of venom green eyes and glinting gold. Inside of his room-the one they let him borrow while he's staying at the mansion-he lays awake and tries to forget.
/
He finds himself in the practice room again, two days later and an hour into his session Loki appears, standing unassuming in the middle as he jumps and grapples around the room on the tall, block like protrusions meant to mimic buildings. Shooting a grapple arrow across the room he runs, jumps and slides along the cable to the other side of the room.
"What are you doing here again," Clint calls as he dismounts.
A round of targets fly down from the ceiling and he sets about dispatching them with ease. Running across the tops he shoots them on the fly never missing once and shows exactly why they call him hawkeye. Leaping from one of the lower platforms he lands on his knee a few feet from Loki.
"Oh I remember this, you kneeling before me, that does bring back old times," the god hums a laugh.
Clint glares but doesn't rise to the bait and decides he'd rather not stay in a room alone with Loki, the man was hard enough to tolerate just standing there without him talking as well. Leaving the training room he headed for the elevator up and, to his dismay, was joined by Loki on the way up. He didn't particularly saw anything but his eyes made a habit of looking everywhere including him.
Even the kitchen wasn't sacred and if anything it was a bit on the funny side to see the god, in leather and green walking around to inspect the numerous items on the counters. Downing a full water bottle Clint stalked away and was only mildly annoyed that he couldn't hear Loki's footsteps because he just sort of appeared next to him walking.
Going about his day is slower than usual, he catches glimpses of green out of the corner of his eye and he doesn't have to look to know who's hovering at the edge, at least the god had kept his mouth shut. He suspects quickly that no one but him can see the god cause everyone continues on like the mad man who attacked their city isn't standing off to the side. Fury contacts him and sends him on a mission alone, easy enough and he's silently thankful to be leaving the mansion, he needed some room to breathe.
Loki follows anyway.
Never, in his entire life has Clint had a mission where someone thinks it's funny to show up out of nowhere in front of him and instinct dictates he stop to avoid running into the man. Or chatter into his ear in a language he can't understand and he's pretty sure by the look those summery eyes that Loki isn't being kind with his words. After a week of watching and observing his target and enduring the conversations he can't evade Clint takes out his target and packs up shop.
Back home it doesn't change and now where ever he is, across the country or across the street he knows he'll see a dash of green to bright to be mistaken for anyone else. Loki is becoming a habit he hadn't known he'd started. The only consolation he has about being alone, is when he goes to sleep because he's pretended before, watching and waiting to see, but Loki doesn't come in the night. Why would he bother anyway, Clint wouldn't be awake to acknowledge whatever pestering thing he was doing anyway.
/
"They're going to sew my mouth shut tomorrow," the sentence hangs in the air, dry and arid like the deserts and Clint isn't sure what Loki wants him to do with it. He wouldn't come to the rescue even if he could. He watches Loki pace with hands clasped behind his back, but his fingers are wringing anxiously.
"They think this will stop me, that this will quell the fire of my spells or quiet my anger!"
Hawkeye doesn't reply from where he's perched in the rafters, the god, clearly perturbed by the events due to happen seems more a ball of nerves than ever. Speaking was all the god ever seemed to do and he imagined just how quiet a room would be without the man's lilting voice squirming at the corners.
"What about Thor?"
"What about him!" Loki shouts, staring right up at him.
"What did he have to say?"
"My brother rarely shows his face, but I am sure the entire kingdom will be there for my humiliation. I will be an example; I will be exactly what I have always been in my father's eyes, beneath."
Loki reaches up, the pink of his skin fading into a startling blue and Clint is slightly taken aback by the piercing red eyes staring back at him.
"Quite the disguise you've got there."
"Feh."
Loki snatches his hand back and paces a few more times, the silence in the air pressing in on them both. It isn't that he doesn't know what to say to the ruffled trickster, it's that he has no sympathy for the man. Gripping his bow tightly Clint slips off the rafter and lands on one of the many high platforms, Loki peers up at him momentarily.
"Guess you won't be telling anymore lies then hm? I bet that's why they chose to sew your mouth closed, to shut you up."
The words are bitter on his tongue and once they've left his mouth the after taste is horrible. He remembers listening to Loki whisper in his ear and ask questions he hadn't wanted to answer. He remembers the shivers that clawed up his spine when Loki laid a hand on the small of his back, the friendly gesture lost in the myriad of sickening details the man wanted, about him, about Natasha, about Fury and S.H.I.E.L.D. Good riddance to that maddening voice he thought and as if Loki had heard his thoughts the man stalked over, hands raised as if to grab his neck.
"I would wipe that look of your face had I the means," he growls low, clenching his hands.
At that Clint actually smirks, leaning back on one heel to regard the man in a nonchalant manner, provoking the god. Loki all but snarls as he lashes out in the hopes of grabbing him by the neck and Clint feels the odd sensation of the apparition pass through his body.
"You pathetic, insig-"
Everything in the room stills when the soft whoosh of the doors sliding open announces a newcomer. Clint is frozen, looking up into burning green eyes and tries his hardest not to look like he's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
"Clint?"
It's Natasha and he watches Loki swivel around, slinking back to stand behind him.
"Uh hey."
She stands just in the door way looking at him, scrutinizing the stiffness of his posture, "Are you okay?"
"She can't see me Agent Barton, now stop acting like a frightened animal," Loki hisses in his ear and the hair on his arms stands on end when he sees Loki's arm slither out of his chest waving him on.
"Yeah, sorry, I was thinking about something."
"Fury is contacting us in the main conference room."
"Okay."
They leave the room and Clint doesn't see Loki the rest of the day. Fury sends them out to the Middle East for a long term assignment and the flight takes too long for his tastes.