Once he woke up and got out of bed Clint didn't bother with putting his hearing aids back in. He didn't bother with looking at the clock either, he already knew it was sickeningly early. Instead he walked to the kitchen and poured a bowl of dog chow for Lucky. As he placed the bowl back on the ground the dog came running from the living room. "Sorry I didn't do this before bed. Bad Clint, I know. I just wasn't thinking." Lucky didn't seem to mind that he had missed dinner. He certainly didn't seem to mind that he was being fed before he had a chance to bark at the sunrise. He just chowed down on his kibble and Clint crouched down. Clint rubbed the dog's ears as he ate. Once Lucky was finished he ran off again and Clint was left alone in the kitchen with his left hand still scratching the air.
Clint let himself fall down to the floor. He lowered his hand. For some time he just stared at the doorway that Lucky had ran through. A phantom cold, possibly from the tiles he was sitting on, seemed to seep through the thinning fabric of his sweatpants. Maybe he should have put his hearing aids back in, turned on his ability to properly hear. It wasn't as if he needed them for sitting and thinking but it would be nice, comforting, to hear Lucky's nails scraping slightly against the wooden floors. It would be nice to hear something other than his heartbeat. It would be nice to be able to hear like anyone else his age without the use of the aids he needed since Harold hit him too hard. Clint closed his eyes and focused on his breathing.
Eventually Clint stood up. He stretched. He turned on the coffee machine, pressing the button a bit more forcefully than necessary. Once the coffee finished dripping into Clint's mug he held it close. It was more about the warmth then the actual drink at this point. Though he figured the coffee might be a good enough way to shake off his nightmares.
Four floors down from Clint, Loki was still curled up in bed. The titles in his pile of books had shifted slightly over the hours he had spent that bed. He drank several cups of tea. He hadn't even bothered with trying to put on pajamas or resting his head in an attempt go to sleep. It would be a useless endeavor tonight so why would he even try. Instead he had periodically watched from the bed as the sky grew darker and then grew dim greyish blue as the sun returned. Instead, Loki read page after page after page from any book that was in reach. If the need arose he shuffled out of bed and grabbed a book off one of his bookshelves. Loki didn't want to fall asleep. He knew the second his head hit the pillow his thoughts and dreams would only be that of horrors both real and imagined. Instead, he just kept reading and tried not to actively think about anything except what was written on those pages.
Clint paused, hand poised, ready to start brewing his third cup of coffee in twenty minutes. He couldn't keep at this pace of coffee intake. If he did his hands would be shaking in an hour or two and then he would crash and fall into the deep sleep he was setting out to avoid. Instead of making that cup of coffee he went back to his bedroom and quickly threw on something a bit less pink to wear before he lost his nerve. Actually, what he put on was a lot less pink because it was nearly entirely black. He was nearly out of the room before he turned back to slip his hearing aids into his ears. It was only when he was halfway to the stairs that he realized he was essentially in his tactical gear minus the weapons and shoes. He shrugged and just kept walking. As he made his way down the the stairs he tried thinking of something, anything, to say, but it all sounded wrong. Instead he just kept walking till he was standing outside of the door belonging to floor seventy seven.
Loki almost threw the book he was reading across the room into the window when apropos of nothing he heard a loud banging coming from his living room. He only just managed to clutch at the book before it flew from his hands. "Jarvis," he glared at the nearest camera which happened to be above his bedroom door.
Before Loki could get too angry Jarvis answered the question that was obviously coming, "Clint Barton is outside of the living room door which leads to the master staircase of the tower."
Loki clutched at his book a bit more, "The door…"
"The door is locked of course. Though I believe it would do the two of you some good if you answered him."
Clint knocked on the door again. He had started off by gently tapping but by now he was practically pounding on the door. He had two real options at this point. Either he could keep knocking till the door or his hand broke or he could leave. He felt ridiculous but it was too late to go back to his room so he just kept knocking. He couldn't just walk away.
The knocking was inescapable. Loki couldn't simply try and ignore it though reading or force of will. Eventually he stood up. Walking out of his bedroom he continued to clutch a bit too tightly at his book. Loki walked up to the door and bowed his head, "Tell him he can stop that incessant knocking."
"Mr. Friggason asked if you could stop knocking." Clint jumped at hearing Jarvis's voice. He lowered his arm till his fist was at his side. With a bit of effort he managed to pry his fingers apart.
The door swung open slowly, bit by bit. Once it was fully open the two men just stared at each other.
Clint took a breath and after holding it for a few seconds he left out out. "You don't...I didn't… I mean I didn't come here to scare you or threaten you or whatever. I…" Clint sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he said, "I don't know if I can forgive you, completely, for what you did." His hand practically fell back to his side, "But you obviously paid for what you did. No one...no one deserves what happened to you. People shouldn't hurt others like that just because they feel justified to do it." His fingers twitched in way that was mostly unnoticeable. "I haven't...people...Harold, my father, was controlling and manipulative and I hate him. It doesn't matter that he's been dead for years I still hate him. He made my entire family feel powerless in the same way that you made me feel powerless. We couldn't...it's his fault...I suppose that some of this," Clint motioned between the two of them instead of coming up with a word for their relationship with each other, "is me projecting Harold onto you. He got out easy and you're still here. I know that doesn't. It doesn't justify how I make you feel. It's just turning me into the abusive jerk he once was. So...sorry."
Once Clint was finished with what he had to say he backed away. He turned and started to walk back up to his floor before he could regret what he said and try to cover it all up in some way. Maybe he should have just stayed on his floor and drank coffee till he had passed out. That might have made more sense. At the very least it would have been easier.