In the garage of SHIELD headquarters, Clint jerked his helmet off and stuck it on the handlebar of the motorcycle while Loki straightened his coats, back in his hand-washed Asgardian attire. Clint shook his head at him with a roll of his eyes as they waited for the elevator to open up.
"You're not going to convince anyone here that you're trying to change by wearing that stuff, you know."
They entered the elevator and punched the buttons for the conference floor. Clint leaned his butt against the low hand-holds and crossed his arms, Loki stood opposite.
"I find it's always best to keep the reminders in place of whom exactly is being dealt with. Your SHIELD will not forget I am a god- no matter how low I can be brought to toil with the likes of your kind."
"My kind?" Clint said haughtily.
"Humans."
"Oh, I know what you meant," Clint pushed himself off the railing and reached out to jab the 'full stop' button. The elevator rattled and bounced to a halt and shook the two unsteadily.
"But you're not gonna win many favors talking like that around us. Maybe you can get away with it with the civilians- they don't know you; they'll just think you're a giant dick, but with SHIELD, the people who had to keep track of your body count and include their own agents in the tally, they ain't gonna take kindly to your kind of talk."
Loki seemed amused by Clint's scolding, a tiny smile twisting his lips. "As I recall, you assisted in racking up those numbers," he said.
The bile rose up in Clint's throat and he didn't hesitate for a second to ball up his fist and punch Loki across the face with one quick movement. The god's head jerked with the force and he tried to muffle his hiss of pain, but the scowl he laid on the shorter man leaked a single drip of blood which he swiped away with a flick of his tongue. He recovered his cool facade in a quick moment, looking down his nose at the blonde.
"I only speak the truth," he said with a hint of a grin.
"The truth! The truth is: you're nothing without others to stand on. If you had come here without your fancy spear, you wouldn't have made it out of the base. We would've beaten the shit outta you and locked you up to wait for your big brother to come and take you back to daddy."
Loki bristled at the words, anger boiling up in him at the picture Clint made of him.
"You cannot contain me," he growled. "I am a god, a power so beyond your tiny conception of reality that you bow and scrape before me in radical awe!"
"Yeah, and your so fucking powerful, you would've crashed and burned without me by your side! I made your invasion happen! You couldn't even have gotten out of Nevada without me! You can't step into the limelight without standing on someone else's shoulders."
Loki lunged at the archer with those accusations, tackling him to the floor of the elevator and grasping at the blond's throat as he drew back his fist for a punch. Clint knew the fight was coming and he was ready for it, whisking a knife out from behind him and touching the point into Loki's neck as they hit the floor, freezing the tussle before it had even begun.
The agent put a little more pressure into the knife to prick at Loki's skin, eyes wild in lust for blood.
"You wanna go, boy?" he rasped. "I'll cut the skin right off you so deep it'll never grow back. Raw and exposed for the rest of your life, I'll make sure to take care of you- use you as a footstool and drink margaritas all day while I rub the salt from the rim right into your bleeding eyes." He expelled a harsh breath and rested his head on the floor as he let the threats seep into the god's brain.
"That how you wanna live out your punishment?"
Loki snarled and glared daggers into Clint's eyes, wishing whole-heartedly he could kill the archer. But he didn't. He released Clint's neck and rose, drawing himself up to watch the other with unconcealed fury.
Clint got up and tucked the knife into his jeans at the small of his back, pulling at his jacket to straighten it. He turned away to release the all-stop and faced the closed doors of the elevator as it jiggled back to life and lifted them again. Loki stepped up beside him and looked unseeing at the metal doors, tonguing the split flesh in the corner of his mouth silently, his hatred abating with the drop of adrenaline.
The elevator dinged blandly when their floor was reached and the doors slid open to let them out, Clint going first. He jammed his fists into his coat and hunched his shoulders defensively with his exit, nervously glancing to the sides, like any of the personnel had witnessed the altercation in the elevator. Possibly a security detail had, through the cameras, he was sure Fury would be shown the footage. Loki stalked behind him sullenly. The shocked stares and watchful glances the two received on the jaunt to the conference room put Clint on edge. He felt like any one of them could snap and start hailing bullets down on them for the sight of the god walking freely in their midst. He noticed many of the eyes or heads turning to follow him, and he knew they were suspicious, wondering if Clint was under Loki's thrall again or maybe he'd gone rogue and decided to walk with him of his own volition. He made sure not to make eye contact with any of them, hunkering down within himself to brush them off.
The door to the meeting room whooshed open and they entered to be greeted by Fury, who rose slowly from his chair at the head of the table and waved the pair to their seats.
"Thank you for coming, Agent Barton," he said as his eye flicked over to Loki, "and for bringing your pet."
Clint shrugged. "It's kinda hard to go anywhere without him. House is farther than a quarter mile."
"You have a room available to you here, if you wanted to keep extra eyes on him."
"Thank you, sir, but I'd just as soon not."
Fury hummed and contemplated Clint's refusal, but he let it go with a bow of his head. "Well, the offer will stand." He laced his gloved fingers together atop the table and his face became grave.
"You've been grounded until further notice."
Clint's breath left his lungs like it had been socked out of him. He knew this had been coming, but hearing the Director get right to the heart of it without any prompting had still shocked him. His own assessment of the situation and knowing he'd be grounded didn't make him any less angry about it. The one arm he rested on the table tensed and he clenched his fist.
"You knew this was coming," Fury added with a hint of remorse. "The limitations of this contract with Odin are too restricting for you to accomplish anything. Until we can figure something out- no missions."
"I could still be in on the briefings," Clint appealed, "I have extensive black op history, knowledge of crime rings- I'm practically best friends with Rosario 'la Diosa'! I can help out somehow."
The Director raised his hands and conceded his point. "I know, Barton. Maybe we'll use you as a consultant while we try to get this shit sorted out, but in the meantime..."
Clint growled loudly and rubbed his eyes. "Was there anything else, sir? I have to see my shrink."
"No, I just brought you here so you wouldn't wreck my office."
"Great. Where do you want me to keep him?" He jerked his thumb at Loki, who had watched the whole exchange studiously.
"Now, he can stay in my office."
"But you don't trust me not to tear it apart?!"
Loki spoke up, "I must say, I cannot offer a promise to be proper and civilized."
"I'll take my chances." Fury stood up again and went to open the automatic door. "You're dismissed, Agent Barton."
Clint glared at Loki with betrayal adding to his ire before he jerked out of his chair and left him behind, grumbling to himself. He headed straight for the office down another hallway, this one silent and devoid of agents passing to and fro. He burst into the room without preamble and slammed the door behind him, tossing himself into the small cushioned chair awaiting him. The doctor, sitting behind his desk and typing away on his laptop, startled in his chair, but he didn't say anything about Clint's abrupt entrance.
Clint slouched in the chrome seat and glowered at the psychiatrist. "Hear about my new pet?"
"Hm," Winchester confirmed without really saying it. "Is that what you call him?"
"S'what everyone else calls him, apparently. That he's on a leash, and I have to keep track of him."
"And what do you think of that?"
"I think it's stupid," Clint grunted, starting to get that weird feeling of blankness he always felt while in this room with the doctor. Like he was far away, no longer registering feelings or complex thought. He felt gravity weighing down his flesh.
"It's a punishment for him to be here; I'm his jailer, his handler- that's it. Calling him a pet makes me feel like I'm... using him for something sick."
Winchester nodded sagely. "The connotations of the pet label on another sentient being is something sexual, usually. That is why it makes you feel so. Tell me what happened when you saw him again."
"Thor showed up with him at my camp-ground, Natasha had told him where I was. He brought Loki right to me. He didn't talk for a while, just let Thor tell me everything, and then it was just him and me. Thor left, and I finished camping... with Loki."
"How did you feel?"
"Confused, angry. Scared. I thought maybe Thor was being controlled like I was. But he wasn't and then I was just pissed off." Clint looked at his jean-covered knees and let himself be pulled down in the weight of his skin. "I beat him," he murmured. Winchester watched without reaction, waiting to hear it all.
"I beat him until his skin broke over his face, my knuckles got cut open. I stabbed an arrow through his hand." He looked up at the doctor then, and furrowed his brows in sad confusion. "It made me feel better, but I thought I was going to enjoy it, and I didn't. I thought... I dunno. It felt more like I was making a point- I beat the crap out of him to show I wasn't afraid of him, and show him I've got the power now. It was almost a chore. I knew I had to do it. And when it was done, and he was bleeding all over his face and his hand had a hole I could see through, I was pleased at a job well done."
"Sounds as though you regret your actions, even though you say it made you happy."
"It didn't make me happy," Clint denied, "it made me... not feel powerless. He can't do much to me that I couldn't do to him now. Like it puts us on even ground. He took his beating with grace and now he lives in my apartment, eats my food, watches the news like a regular guy."
Winchester's voice came to Clint's ears in a soft way but his next assessment put a steadying hand on his soul with a word that brought realization.
"You see him as your equal."
Clint felt a little light on his feet when he left Dr. Winchester's office an hour later, he was released from his obligation to see Winchester. They talked over his sometimes-tense, sometimes-comfortable relationship that had formed with Loki, his feelings on being grounded, where he thought his life was going now. But he answered honestly, mostly, and then Winchester told him that his door would be open to him.
He knocked on the Director's door, and again didn't wait for an answer before entering. He found Fury at his desk chair, actually filling out paperwork, and Loki, standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows and staring out at the city. He held his hands behind his back and looked up to the tops of the buildings, mouth parted slightly as though in awe, but Clint knew it wasn't that. The archer stood at the threshold of the door, keeping it open, and he called out to the god.
"Hey-" and Loki pivoted to face him, "-you ready to go?"
He felt like he was a parent picking up his kid from the principal's office. Loki left his place at the windows and walked away with the Archer, neither of them giving a word to the Director on their way out.
Clint and Loki loaded onto the bike and sped out of headquarters, but he didn't take the usual route home. Instead, he led them to a crowded park. Even with the god in his leathers and metal, Clint just couldn't bring himself care if someone recognized him and panicked. They were regular people; what were they going to do? Just run and hide.
He walked away from the god to stand in the grass and breathe deeply. The tinkling music of an ice cream truck came to his his ears and his mood lightened even more. He followed the truck's movements to park against the curb and watched it get flooded with children and happy couples. He waited until they had all gone before going to it.
"Stay here," he told Loki, who had come to stand beside him. He turned to walk backwards a moment and address the god again, "you're not lactose intolerant are you?"
"I have no idea what that means," the god complained.
Clint waved the comment off and kept on to the truck. He smiled at the man in the truck sadly, finding him looking a little bewildered from the mad rush of people.
"Hey, man," the archer chuckled, "got anything left?"
The ice cream man laughed tiredly with him and checked his coolers. "Some OtterPop types and... push-pops. Oh hey- couple of bomb pops, those bottle rocket things?- getting ready for the fourth, you know."
"Oh, those! Give me two of the rockets."
The man handed the frozen treats over in exchange for Clint's cash and he thanked him and went back to the god, who stood still by himself on the grass. The blond held out the treat and Loki took it hesitantly, warily grasping it's flat wooden stick with his thumb and forefinger. He eyed it warily and glanced at Clint who had begun licking his own red, white, and blue popsicle.
"Eat it before it melts," Clint advised and gestured him to follow to a bench that just opened up.
They sat, and Loki tested out his treat, shocking himself at the freezing temperature of it even though the other had hinted at it. Kids ran around the grass, mostly screaming and laughing; chasing each other and playing tag or just playing in general. There was one with his mother and father flanking him, and teaching him to fly the sparrow-shaped kite that fluttered in the sky. The pair on the bench devoured the popsicles, one with dainty tip-of-the-tongue licks, and the other with his mouth around it and sopping up the drips.
"What are we doing here?" Loki asked.
"Just enjoying the scenery." Clint pointed to the popsicle Loki began to nibble at. "Eating popsicles. Something wrong with that?"
"I suppose not."
Clint sighed and leaned back against the bench and gazed up at the tops of the waving trees. "Just feeling annoyed. Grounded and all that. Gonna get real bored real fast. I know Fury said I might do consulting work, but that shit's for babies. I could do it in my sleep. You're really putting me out here, you know."
"I'm sorry my incarceration is such an inconvenience to you," Loki said sarcastically.
"Can't just get along with your brother like everyone else."
"I would prefer having my fingernails torn away than to sit silently under that idiot's weight!" Loki spat. "You have no idea the darkness I was forced to live under, never having the sun shine on my face in recognition of anything. A mother's darling taught woman's fighting; called dishonorable and a sneak for all the trouble I saved him! 'There is no honor in magic'- fools. Where would they be without Odin's magic?" The sentiment caused Loki pause and he became somber. He sighed. "Where would I be without Odin's magic? Dead. But Asgard and Earth would be saved from my bungled machinations, so I suppose their hatred of the art is well placed."
Clint shrugged with one shoulder and grunted. "Nobody likes magic when it's used against them: I can testify that. Odin saved your life?"
"As a babe- it's nothing I could thank him for if I ever felt the inclination."
The archer hummed and nodded as he digested the information, piecing together the bits and pieces of Loki's past that he let slip every once in a while. They'd never talked about themselves during the invasion. There was no call for it. He remembered taking the time to regale Loki of the tale of Natasha's life, offering up information that no one but she and he himself knew. But when Loki asked for it, Clint didn't spare Natasha's feelings a single thought- she had been the enemy then, and when the boss wanted to know the enemies every weakness, he was happy to clue him in.
Of himself, Clint had told Loki nothing. Hadn't been asked to because he was a mere pawn. But he felt like there wasn't much to tell in any case- most of his life consisted of the job he held now, with a few different employers here and there. His past was something he looked back on with nonchalance after getting through the torment of his father. He still felt pain when he remembered particular moments, but otherwise he thought he lived an okay childhood. There was nothing he thought he regretted, not much to be ashamed of.
He pulled himself from his thoughts and got up, telling the god it was time to go home. The god came without question, and the two rode back to the apartment silently. Clint led the way up the flights of stairs to the front door wanderingly, still a little lost inside himself, though he wasn't sure why. The presence of the pale man behind him had become an extension of himself at some point. Loki was always there at his back, and Clint knew he was there without feeling him anymore. No longer did the hair on his nape stand on end at the feel of another so close behind him. There was only one other person he felt so comfortable with out of his sight.
The key was jabbed into the bolt lock when they finally landed on his floor, and he turned it with ease, soundlessly. Clint stared up at the plain door with wide eyes and he left the key in it's place as he reached into his coat and came out with a gun. Loki drew back a step and looked back and forth between Clint's face and the weapon, concerned and confused. The agent put a finger to his lips to call Loki's silence and he gripped the doorknob tight, turning it slowly and opening the door a crack. He peeked into the apartment through the crack and widened it further, keeping an eye out for the intruder. He drew back to hold a hand out to Loki, palm out to signal he stay where he was. Loki made no acknowledgment that he understood, but he didn't move. Clint pushed the door to open on on its own and he leveled his pistol, ready to dodge and return fire if need be. The living room was clear of any intruder, but the refrigerator in the kitchen closed with a heavy clunk and glasses clinked. He aimed towards the kitchen and began a slow stalk across the carpet.
"Clint, it's me," came Natasha's warning tone from the other side of the wall.
The archer's shoulders slumped and he let his arm fall to his side. The redhead stepped into view, holding up two bottles of golden liquid in one hand.
"I brought beer."
Clint sighed and chuckled with relief and holstered his gun. "Jesus, 'Tasha. I thought somebody broke in! Loki-" he called out to the god- "you can come in; it's just Natasha."
She smirked and turned away, popping the caps of the bottles on the edge of the countertop and setting them down. "You think I'd leave the door unlocked if I was breaking in?" She pulled a small cutting board out from beside the block of knives and grabbed a lime from the fridge, beginning to slice it apart.
"Yeah, I should've known it was you," Clint admitted, cursing himself for not thinking of it. Loki stepped up beside him and watched Natasha shove a wedge of the green fruit into the neck of the bottles. She saw him from the corner of her eye and when she was done doctoring the beer, she handed one of the chilled bottles to Clint, making eye contact with the god.
Clint walked by them to look in the fridge and he hooted when he found the styrofoam boxes piled with Mexican food inside. He pulled them out and found the contents still hot, meaning Natasha had shown up just before they had.
"You drink?" She asked Loki.
"I will not be getting drunk around you," he said pointedly.
She pulled another bottle from the fridge and gave it the same treatment as the fist two. "That's not what I asked, because I can drink you under the table." She shoved the beer at him and he took it reluctantly.
Clint moaned as he forked some of the rice in his mouth, holding his beer between the middle knuckles of his fingers and an open box of food in his hand, walking between the two again to sit on the couch.
"What're we watching?" He called between mouthfuls.
Natasha handed Loki one of the boxes and took one for herself and went to sit on Clint's right, leaving Loki to trail behind uncertainly.
"Twister. Storm of the Century, too, in case you wanted a long watch."
"Mmm, maybe to fall asleep to," Clint decided. He craned his neck to find Loki standing beside the couch, looking unsure of himself with the odd food in his hand, the odd seating arrangement. The archer scooted closer to Natasha to touch their thighs together.
"Sit, man; Nat decided it's movie night."
Natasha turned on the television and DVD player with the remotes, holding her beer between her knees. Loki took a deep breath and moved, settling himself on Clint's left and finding there wasn't enough space to not be touching him. They sat thigh-to-thigh on the cushions as well. The loud and grating sounds of the film began, recognizing their sound mixers and producers, anyone who'd had a hand in the making of the film. Loki studied the assassins beside him, watching them shovel the food into their mouths and take swigs of their beer as they kept their eyes glued to the screen. They leaned back into the couch, at ease with each other and even leaning into each other an imperceptible degree. Loki tried ingratiate himself with them and he mirrored their positions, taking testing nibbles at the rice and refried beans and being pleasantly surprised with the taste. He sipped gently at the beer, finding the act of strangling the neck of the bottle with a lime as a strange tradition, but he ended up accepting the fizz and tang as well. He held the bottle up to read its white lettering and discern where it was made, calling up the history he'd read of the country in question. He ate slowly and drank slowly, ending up watching the television screen with fascination.
The god felt himself silly at having grown to be attached to the characters in such a minuscule amount of time, feeling excitement and fear with them as he fell under the movies thrall. He'd stopped eating sometime in the middle, finishing the beer and setting it all aside on the end table. Clint saw Loki's rapt attention to the film and elbowed Natasha to look at him, to which she snorted and rolled her eyes. Clint just smiled and shook his head, turning back to the movie.
When it ended and the credits rolled, the agents stretched their limbs and got up to take their leftovers and empty bottles into the kitchen, leaving Loki to dizzy himself as he read through all the credits and listened to the end music. Natasha dumped the bottles into the trash bin while Clint tucked the boxes into the fridge.
"Never seen a movie before, I take it?" She said with a smile, finding Loki's childlike awe cute.
Clint tossed their forks in the sink with a noisy clanging. "Nah, he's just been watching TV since he got here. Watches the news a lot."
"Hm."
They went back to the living room and Natasha took out the first disk and put it away, putting another into the player. Clint flopped onto the couch next to Loki again, making a lot of groans and sighs as he stretched his arms over the back and smiled contentedly. Loki looked thoughtful, watching Natasha with interest.
"How many of these 'movies' are there?"
Clint snorted.
Natasha softly sat back on the couch while the disk was being read. "Thousands. Maybe millions."
"Really," Loki breathed. "Where do you acquire them?"
Clint barked a laugh and sighed happily, "Oh my god, he's gonna be on a movie binge for the rest of his life."
"Clint can supply you with a list of good ones," Natasha cut in, ignoring Clint's protest that he have to do it. "Just ask and he'll get them."
The movie began slowly and peacefully, with gentle music against a fly-over shot of cold oceans and snow, and the three went quiet and watched.
It was a four and a half hour film, mostly a quiet and non-jump inducing one. The music was sometimes creepy and there were chills to be had, but otherwise, the voice-over of the main character soothed with his gravely, grim tone. Loki sat at attention, enraptured by all the elements of music, suspense, characters, and plot seamed together. Around halfway in, Clint had fallen asleep, with his chin tucked in on his chest and arms crossed loosely. He leaned precariously towards the redhead, who bore the brunt of his shifting weight easily. She rested her head in her hand and blinked slowly at the screen, knowing sleep was going to claim her soon. She shoved at Clint to sit him up straighter so they could lean against each other while they slept, and he groaned sleepily, not waking up. She grunted as she pushed him into place and tucked herself against him, watching the movie blearily with her arms crossed tightly against her breasts.
Clint grumbled as he nuzzled Natasha's curls, recognizing her scent even in his sleep. Through the film, Natasha's weight pushed against the archer, leaning him further into Loki's side. The god withstood the pressure, mostly not even noticing the two agents with his stare into the TV. As the credits began to roll and bathe the living room nearly black, Clint awoke slowly, lifting his head from atop Natasha's and breathing in sharply, groaning. He looked up at Loki who still read through the credits dutifully, and he tipped his head back against the couch.
"What did you think?" He asked quietly.
"Quite a tale. You slept through most of it."
"Yeah, that one puts me out. S'good though. Ready for bed?"
Loki furrowed his brows and looked between Clint and Natasha. "Where will Agent Romanov sleep?"
The blond groaned and reached up to rub his eyes. "Fuck. In my bed, I guess. I can break out the sleeping bag. You can stay on the couch."
"You really do not sleep together?"
"She's my friend, and I love her, but not like that. She knows that. We can sleep in the same bed if the situation calls for it, but this ain't one of those times."
Clint sighed as he got up, holding Natasha up and giving her a gentle shake to rouse her enough to stand.
"Time to knock out, Nat. You got the bed."
The redhead breathed deep and rose silently, running her hand down Clint's arm and leading away with his hand as she left them for his bedroom. He followed at a distance and came back with his sleeping bag, unfurling it over the prayer rug. Loki went into the bathroom and changed out of his leather and into a set of black silk bedclothes, the long-sleeved shirt buttoned up and the pants tied low at his hips, though the shirt was long enough to cover the edge. Clint had stripped out of his own clothes while Loki was away, walking out of the kitchen in his boxers with a glass of water in his hand. Clint paid his own near nudity no mind with the company and settled into his sleeping bag, nestling the glass in the carpet. He chuckled at Loki's sleeping clothes as he did every time he saw them, and took one last sip of his water before lying down, arms behind his head. Loki laid on the couch with the blanket over his body, curled on his side and a hand under his cheek. They lie in the pitch black of the room, both breathing silently and knowing the other was still awake because of it.
"I find your relationship with Agent Romanov quite strange," Loki finally murmured.
Clint snorted softly, having waited for him to say something before going to sleep.
"You remember what I told you about when her and I met, right? I was sent to kill her, brought her to our side instead."
"Yes: she said she owed you a debt because of it."
"Tch, nah, she doesn't and she knows that. The lady in the other building- our weird understanding of each other? It's that kind of relationship with me and Nat. I trust her with everything I have, and she returns the feelings. I don't have to be in love with her to love her."
Loki's eyes were open and they were looking in Clint's direction though he couldn't see him even those few feet away. He let the archer's assessment wash over him in silence for a moment before Clint spoke again.
"Don't you have someone like that? Everybody has someone that has their back, always. Even if it's their own mother."
Loki huffed and pictured his mother, glowing and golden, brilliant in her smile; burning in her love. She loved Loki; he knew, even though he said he didn't, said that it had all been a farce. He loved her too, though he felt betrayal whenever he thought of her. He supposed one would always love their mother, biological or not, regardless of the other feelings you could have for them. Did she match Clint's relationship with Natasha? No. While she loved him, she couldn't support him in all his choices- she was his mother.
If he thought of Thor and their childhood, he found that they were never a match. Opposites in nearly all things. They had to be persuaded into doing anything the other wanted, and only then if they got something out of it in return. Thor standing against him during his attempt to take over Earth, telling him to go home like a chastised child- put him out of Clint's criteria of trust and love as well. Thor would always go against him.
"No," he finally said. "No one has ever been a friend to me like you are to Agent Romanov. No one cares to be."
Clint stared up blankly at the ceiling he couldn't see. "Well for now, you know I've got your back- if you die, I die."
"You are a poor excuse of a friend, in that case."
"I'm the only person on this whole planet that'll let you sleep on his couch- and that's saying something from the guy you brainwashed to work for you. I'd call myself one hell of a friend."
"Are we friends now?" Loki questioned curiously, to which Clint was silent for a few moments.
"I don't know," he answered honestly. "I can trust you with my life because of the rules... but that doesn't mean you'll help me if I'm getting tortured. Doesn't mean you'll agree with all my decisions without question. It doesn't mean..." Clint broke off and sighed quietly, turning onto his side away from the couch and closing his eyes. "Well. It just doesn't."
He wondered what he had been going to say, and when it came to him it had shocked him with a little fear right to his heart. He wasn't sure of himself, and he wasn't sure of Loki, so he'd let the conversation trail away into nothing. He questioned himself silently why he had begun thinking this way, knowing he shouldn't be thinking this way. His time as Loki's second-in-command had been guilt-free and, if he was honest with himself, soul-enriching, fulfilling. A simple brainwash to change his sides and he'd been happy as a clam to get some real work in; not the assignments he'd been given lately to sit and watch, sit and aim, sit and do nothing. Clint squeezed his eyes tight and grimaced at himself when he thought these things. And it hadn't been the first time he'd thought it. But it still made him feel guilty and his heart stung when he made himself push it all away and convince himself that the feelings were just longings of a drug he could no longer have. Something so bad for him and capable of killing outright, but he was addicted at the first taste. He wondered if Selvig or the other men that had been captured by the Tesseract felt the same way. With a sour taste in his mouth he scorned himself and thought that they probably didn't, and he was simply a disgusting person inside.
As he began to fall asleep under his self-depreciating thoughts, he wondered again what he had been going to say to Loki, when the darkness was conducive to perfect, unadulterated honesty. Loki's voice floated over to him in a whisper after all their silence just as Clint drifted away to sleep.
"I will."
It doesn't mean you'll care about me.