"I didn't think you would enjoy movies involving that many explosions, having been exposed to actual battle and all," commented Darcy as she wondered into the room

Clint shot up on the couch, blinking at her over the back. Apparently, he'd crashed out during the movie. "You need a bell."

She just shrugged and tossed him a carefree smile. "People say that about Phil, too." Her smile fell with her words, voice dropping to almost a whisper near the end. For a moment, she paused near the back of the couch, throat visibly constricting as she gulped. "I mean, said. They said he needed a bell."

At the mention of his former boss, Clint winced. Guilt assaulted his mind immediately, bile rising in the back of his throat. Still, the look on Darcy's face somehow made it easier to pull himself together. "Yeah, we all thought he needed one. Even got him a human-sized cat collar with a bell as a joke."

A touch of a smile pulled at Darcy's lips, a chuckle falling from her lips. "So you guys were to blame for that, huh? I knew he was lying when he said he needed it for a mission once."

Clint paused, considering her words and everything else he knew about her so far. He'd already guessed there was some kind of connection between her and Phil, and that the connection probably wasn't work related. Phil never had talked much about his home life, but Clint couldn't recall him having a family either. "What was your connection with him, anyway?"

"Phil saved my life," replied Darcy simply before flopping down sideways into a chair. "So, ready to talk?"

"Uh, yeah," stuttered Clint a little, head spinning with the sudden topic change. Though he couldn't be sure, that was probably her way of saying 'stop' without saying it.

Reaching forward, he grabbed the remote to flip off the movie, but Darcy stopped him before he could. "Leave it on." At his raised eyebrow, she explained. "The conversation will come and go. We'll want something on to fill the silence, otherwise it'll get overwhelming."

Clint nodded, turning down the volume instead and laying back on the couch, head next to the chair she was sitting in. "You have the weirdest therapy methods."

"I wouldn't call them 'therapy methods'," corrected Darcy, "more like 'homegrown methods of talking about difficult shit'."

"Sounds better than 'therapy methods'," muttered Clint with a sigh. "So, what, you just want me to start talking about what happened?"

Darcy shook her head, rolling it so she could look at him. "Not unless you absolutely want to. Not yet, anyway."

Both of Clint's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Without much thought, he rolled over so he was on his stomach rather than his back, staring at the woman lounging next to him. "Seriously?"

"No one wants to relive something like that," pointed out Darcy. "I figured we'd start with going through what you've been afraid you're gonna do since Mr. I-Wanna-Be-A-Billy-Goat's 'take over the world' stunt."

"Okay, this definitely isn't SOP for any therapist," stated Clint. "Where did you learn your methods from?"

Darcy's eyes darted back to the TV, her voice dropping as she explained. "Phil. He's the one who helped me after everything."

Clint gulped a little, nodding once sharply. "That sounds like him."

"Yeah," whispered Darcy. "He always knew when to push and when to back off."

His eyes slid back to the TV screen and, for a few minutes, neither on said a word. Of course, he was the first to break the silence. "You two were close, weren't you?"

Darcy nodded, eyes also locked on the screen. "After he and Fury rescued me, I didn't have anywhere to go. So, he let me move in with him."

"That sounds like Phil," muttered Clint with a touch of a smile. "How old were you?"

"Ten," replied Darcy quietly.

Clint felt his jaw hanging open a little; it wasn't exactly what he expected. He'd figured she'd say sixteen or seventeen. Maybe fifteen. But ten? That meant that she would have been living with Phil for almost eight years before she went to college, assuming she left at 18. And ten...ten was way too young to have to go through anything like what he had. "Shit."

"Yeah," muttered Darcy, rolling her head back to look at him. "What are you afraid you're going to do?"

The question was somewhat out of nowhere, but he recognized the subject change for what it was: her way of saying 'stop'. Besides, it was what they'd been originally discussing.

For a moment, he fell silent and just let his mind try to sort through everything. Her question was a lot more specific than he'd expected, which made it easier to answer. "Hurt someone again. Not someone who deserves it, but someone who doesn't. A friend or fellow Agent."

"Someone like Agent Romanov," summarized Darcy knowingly. She offered him a touch of a smile, soft and reassuring. "It's scary to think about potentially hurting someone you care for."

"Especially after I hurt so may people," muttered Clint, his voice trailing off a bit as a car went flying off a cliff with the protagonist rolling out just in time. "I don't wanna do that again, but I'm afraid I will."

From the corner of his eye, he could see Darcy nod in response to his statement. "Loki doesn't have any control over you anymore."

Clint snorted. "I'm not sure about that one."

"Why?" asked Darcy, her eyes lacking any judgment, hatred, or anger. All he could see was understanding and a calm curiosity.

Well, in for a penny, in for a dollar. Or was it a pound? He never did understand British turns of phrase. "I can hear his voice sometimes, whispering in the back of my mind. Calling me useless, pitiful, murderer."

Darcy's brow furrowed deeply for a moment. He just used it as a chance to watch her mind work. Her face was far more expressive than she probably even knew it could be and he was starting to find the way it changed interesting. When she did speak, her voice was uncertain and a touch fearful. "Clint, did- did anyone in your family abuse you?"

Okay, that wasn't what he was expecting her to ask. Or even the conclusion he expected her to draw (no matter how true it was). The mind-reader theory was becoming more and more likely with each meeting. "Uh, yeah. Long- long time ago."

Slowly, Darcy nodded, her eyes sliding shut a little. "Mind telling me who?"

"My dad," replied Clint, growling a little. "Fucking drunken bastard."

Darcy winced, her body tensing up at his harsh tone. "I'm starting to see why Phil thought we'd connect." Sighing, she took a deep breath. When her eyes opened again, her blue orbs were filled with understanding. "You probably won't believe me when I say this, but it's not Loki's voice you're hearing: it's your fathers."

"No," objected Clint, shaking his head firmly. "I'd know that bastard's voice anywhere."

"It's Loki's voice, but your father's words," explained Darcy. "It's your father that's speaking, even if it's not his voice you're hearing. Your mind lumped your father and Loki together, meshed your memories of both into one person. They both did terrible things to you, took away your power to defend yourself in different ways. It's the same act though, no matter how different the methods. So your mind linked them together as one person, one monster."

For a moment, he just let her words sink in. Let his mind process everything she said. He agreed the words were his father's; he'd heard them too often as a child before his parents died. But the idea that his mind had compressed his memories of Loki and his father into one person, one voice that haunted his mind...had that voice been there all along? If what she was saying was true, that voice should have been there from the beginning.

Closing his eyes, he tried to remember if his father's taunting words had always hung at the edge of his mind like that. And found it was true; every time he failed, missed a target or lost a trail. Every time he failed at his job or in the circus, his father's voice had mocked him from some corner of his mind. A voice that had disappeared after Loki took control of his body. Disappeared, only to be replaced by that of Thor's bastard brother. The words were the same, the voice was just different. She was right.

"You're right." He couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice, and he didn't bother to try. She'd figured it out; he wasn't going to pretend like he wasn't surprised about that. "It's not Loki at all."

Darcy nodded gently, eyes returning to the TV. For a long time, they didn't say a word. People ran across the screen in chaos, fire and explosions destroying the city painted in pixels before them. When the silence was broken again, it was Darcy that broke it. "Loki doesn't have any more control over you; his influence is long gone. Even the traces of it have vanished. He can't make you do anything anymore."

"It doesn't feel that way," muttered Clint, lifting his eyes back to the woman he was starting to wonder more and more about. "It feels like he's still there."

"You're expecting him to be there," explained Darcy gently, her eyes meeting his again. "He's not, though. Everyone acts like he is, and that's not helping anything, but I promise you, he's gone."

Clint felt his temper rising a little, glaring slightly at Darcy. Of course, he knew she was only trying to help him, but she was ignoring what the man had done to him. If Loki could take control of him like that, who could say that he was completely free of the influence? "And how do you know? Are you an expert in alien mind control techniques?"

One of Darcy's eyebrows rose in response, shooting him a 'really?' look. "I don't think I'd want to be the person who had that job title." The snark helped a little, breaking the tension that built through their conversation. "And no, I'm not. But Phil explained what happened and I saw what he did on the tapes. It's not hard to figure out how he took control of your body. And I can tell you right now, there's no trace of it left. His scepter left physical evidence of it's actions; that evidence is gone."

"He took control of my mind," growled Clint, rolling to his feet angrily. He was carefully not to stand over her though; not to crowd her. No amount of anger could make him that big of a bastard. She wasn't the enemy here, and he knew it even if his mouth didn't seem to. "He got inside my head and played with things. And you expect me to believe that just because my eyes aren't freaking glowing any more, somehow I'm free and not a danger to my teammates?"

Darcy sighed, flipping her legs backwards over the chair and landing on her feet. Straightening, she locked eyes with Clint. With both of them standing, it evened the playing field between them. "There were more physical signs besides just the glowing eyes. You're free from his influence, what you need to free yourself from is your doubt and guilt. Those are more sturdy chains than any magic could ever produce." Turning, she waved at him as she headed for the door. "Get some sleep. We'll talk again some other time."

Once she was out of sight, Clint collapsed on the couch. Without the adrenaline, the anger, guilt flooded his system. Guilt and gratitude. Guilt that he'd gotten angry with her when all she was trying to do was help and gratitude for the fact that she seemed to understand; that she knew when to stop pushing a subject without being told. When to postpone their conversations and give him a break. It wasn't like with the S.H.I.E.L.D shrinks at all, the ones who pushed him until he snapped. And for that, he was beyond grateful.

"Next time," he muttered, staring up at the ceiling. "Next time, I won't get mad."