Thunder rumbled overhead, shaking everything, and he wished for just a second he knew the cause.
He never thought he'd think it, of course, but if that storm brewing overheard were Thor, then at least he'd have time. Time to explain. Time to make his case. The God of Thunder was a hothead, but he was surprisingly reasonable when nothing made sense. Loki had banked on that, and while it hadn't worked out for him, it might have if he'd meant well.
And Clint meant well. So he sat, feet up in front of him, bow and arrows lying across the table, waiting.
He could have listened for a clue. It was a waste of effort, though; he knew that. He could have looked out the windows, but no one would be stupid enough to approach from that angle. He probably could have passed the time doing something, anything… but what would that say? What would anyone who might look make of him sitting and using what might be his last moments?
So he waited, and waited, until he thought he might nod off. Then he heard the door squeak.
"Here I thought you'd take the water spout." He smiled, not bothering to turn.
"Why would I do that?" The door latched behind him, her voice rumbling like the thunder outside. "I can take the front door like anybody else."
"I didn't figure that would be what you were here for."
She wandered into view, leggy, calm, glancing at him with cold eyes. "And why would I be here for anything else?"
"Because for all you know I'm on the wrong side of this."
She sat down on the corner of the table, the line of her leg tangent to the curve of his bow. "Are you?"
"No. As soon as I heard about him, I knew everything I had to."
"But you were still following orders after that." She leaned forward.
"On paper. You dumped everything on the internet. Go look at the report again."
She tipped her head to the side a little bit, chin jerking sideways and just slightly back, eyes unflinching, her body saying the question her face couldn't, and wouldn't.
"Don't insult me, Natasha." Clint leaned in, finally letting his brow furrow. "I want someone shot, they get shot. You know that better than anyone."
Her brow furrowed, too.
"I don't miss. And I didn't miss." Then he leaned back again, crossing his arms. "I don't work for them, and if I did, this would be the end of it. You'd make sure of that."
She stood again, and perched on the couch next to him, her belt brushing his waist. "We've had this conversation. About debts."
"So what if you owe me? We all owe him." He rose. "Remote's behind the quiver. What are you drinking?"
"Anything but that hipster beer."
"Keep talking like that and you'll wish you took the water spout." He waited to leave the room before he smiled.