Clint's rooms in SHIELD had always been bare, and that had not changed since he moved in to Stark Towers, in fact it had gotten worse in some ways. After his experience with Loki, Clint had gotten rid of most of his belongings, only keeping the things he treasured the most locked away in his small room. He had taken up residence, when he was in New York, in the smallest room of Stark Tower, of course it being Tony Stark, the smallest room was still the same size as a one bedroom apartment.
The only furniture in the room was a battered desk that sat against the far wall, its surface covered in overdue paperwork, maps, broken arrow shafts and a Nerf gun that Tony had given him to try and make him 'feel better'. An acoustic guitar lay under the floor to ceiling window that faced out over the Hudson River, a pen and notepad sat next to it, with lyrics scribbled across the first two lines of paper. The infamous nest that he slept in was squished in to the corner, giving him a good view of the whole room, and also enough room to escape out through the air duct if someone attacked the tower. His bow and quiver lay next to it, in perfect reach for any emergency situations (Tony had already been hit by an arrow when he tried to sneak in to Clint's room).
A locked army chest sat in his closet, filled with all his precious memories that were to close to his heart to leave in one of his many nests. His circus outfit, the fabric frayed and the colours darkened with age, his first bow that had snapped in the field of duty, his dog tags and his army uniform, as well as the arrow head from the first arrow that had killed someone in the line of duty for SHIELD.
But amongst Clint's stuff were the tell tale signs of someone else, a hairbrush lay on the desk next to a few hair bands, a dark purple acoustic guitar lay next to his own, a collection of books including the subjects nanotechnology, psychology, physics, cults and Norse mythology were stacked in front of the closet door with a purple jacket thrown over the top of them in a rush and the most tell tale sign was the second group of pillows and blankets that had appeared next to Clint's nest. It had been a week since he had saved Asha and she had saved his own life, and he had all but forced her to move in with him to the Tower, desperately needing her in his everyday life to remind him that yes, he had saved someone that needed saving.
No one understood the reason behind why he clung to her so much, as they pointed out, he had saved Natasha, so what was different with Asha? The difference was that Asha had no blood on her hands, she did not need to be saved because she was a killer, she needed to be saved because the universe had deemed her life to be insignificant when it came to pleasure and enjoyment. He could save Natasha a hundred times, yet she would still get more blood on her hands the next week, it was all she knew how to do and it was what she was good at. But Asha was a blank book, the worst thing that she had ever done in her life was flashed a teacher on a dare (and who hadn't done that?) and her thirst for knowledge didn't seem to have any boundaries as she was constantly bringing in new books that she had taken off Bruce or Tony.
She was the only innocent that he had ever saved as Clint Barton, and for that he would keep her as close to him as she would let him. And as much as Clint kept his room bare of everything but the essentials, Asha's presence in his life was slowly getting him to open up and that was evident by the small thank you letter from a child that he had never met that was pinned to his wall, just above where his head lay at night.
This was just a quick second part that I decided to write up to show Clint's feelings about Asha after he had saved her.
Jabberwocky.