[He doesn't owe Loki anything. All the debt is stacked on Loki's side. He knows that. He's aware of it. Keenly.
And yet.
It's the things he doesn't say, the thoughts and feelings he doesn't give voice to, that make him feel like there's something owed nonetheless. Not a debt, but just a common decency at least. He can give Loki all the time he needs to try and get the words out. If the words are necessary. If more is necessary. He even doesn't stare at Loki's back, doesn't bore into him. It isn't privacy, but it's something. Better than nothing.
It's exhausting to carry hate around. Clint would know; that's something he's been carrying for years, and it's been a journey to let it go now that it's over. Easy to hate Loki, but when he stopped being an immediate problem, the hate didn't last as long as he knew others would keep it. Grudges are fleeting. Was he furious at Tony for the whole locking up his former friends in the Raft thing? Yeah, of course. But it also led to house arrest and quality time with his family. Hard to hold a grudge over that kind of outcome.
Loki is always going to be some small, tiny, minuscule part of his life, until the day he finally croaks. But he at least stopped being such a large and eclipsing part of it. Hadn't come back to terrorize anyone. Had gone through a fake death at some point from what Thor explained. (And Thor, even while in mourning, believing the death real, had made a point to seek Clint out and inform him in particular. Clint hadn't known how to feel about it even then.) Had simply stopped being in Clint's orbit, directly around him, even if his influence and presence had loomed long after he'd left.
He hadn't realized that the same could be said for Loki, the flip side, the reverse. That perhaps he loomed large to Loki long after he'd left. That there will be some small part of himself haunting the trickster for the rest of his long days. (Or. Not so long. Depending on timelines, he supposes.)
In a sense, the power of the Mind isn't so different from the power of Space: it opens both ways. Not to a point of reading minds, no, but something harder to describe, to explain. One cannot touch without being touched in return.
Which is, in a sense, something that Loki understands. When Loki finally has enough of himself present to speak. Clint gives him his undivided attention. That feels owed, too. It's important. It's important.
He tries not to react. To just take it in, just watch, let it wash over him. But it still pushes the air out of his chest. Not the apology; that's foreseen. Not the permission, in a sense, to hate Loki. It's even after I pretended not to care, it's the idea of Loki reaching out deliberately, it's a quiet offer of help.
What is he supposed to do with that besides run away? He tries to remember how even breathing works. It's harder than it should be. Like a pressure on his chest. Recontextualizing what happened doesn't change what happened. He's pretty sure. So why is this so hard? Why is it so hard to stay on an even keel in the face of Loki's pain? He looks away, to the ground, away from Loki's watery eyes and splotchy face and the everything that he apparently feels. It's so much. It is so much, and it would be so easy in return to simply shut down in the face of it all.
He finally breathes, swallows until his throat clicks, works his jaw until he can open it up and try to let words come out.]
I expect you not to care cuz it's easier. Than dealing with the care. [Than dealing with knowing there may have been care and that it changed nothing.] I don't know how you can help. That's not me being a smartass; I really don't...know. If you make an offer...I can at least listen.
[He raises his eyes to Loki again. I saw my pain in you. Didn't change a fucking thing. But to acknowledge it is still something. Better than nothing.] I did everything you wanted. It wanted. For you. Every single thing. And more. I cared. And I don't know how much of that was me, and how much of that was the thing inside me.
[It goes further than that. That sometimes he doesn't know overall how much of what happened was him, and how much was the Stone. Because he's pretty sure the ratio is a lot different from what people on the outside assumed. He's pretty sure a lot of it was him.]
no subject
And yet.
It's the things he doesn't say, the thoughts and feelings he doesn't give voice to, that make him feel like there's something owed nonetheless. Not a debt, but just a common decency at least. He can give Loki all the time he needs to try and get the words out. If the words are necessary. If more is necessary. He even doesn't stare at Loki's back, doesn't bore into him. It isn't privacy, but it's something. Better than nothing.
It's exhausting to carry hate around. Clint would know; that's something he's been carrying for years, and it's been a journey to let it go now that it's over. Easy to hate Loki, but when he stopped being an immediate problem, the hate didn't last as long as he knew others would keep it. Grudges are fleeting. Was he furious at Tony for the whole locking up his former friends in the Raft thing? Yeah, of course. But it also led to house arrest and quality time with his family. Hard to hold a grudge over that kind of outcome.
Loki is always going to be some small, tiny, minuscule part of his life, until the day he finally croaks. But he at least stopped being such a large and eclipsing part of it. Hadn't come back to terrorize anyone. Had gone through a fake death at some point from what Thor explained. (And Thor, even while in mourning, believing the death real, had made a point to seek Clint out and inform him in particular. Clint hadn't known how to feel about it even then.) Had simply stopped being in Clint's orbit, directly around him, even if his influence and presence had loomed long after he'd left.
He hadn't realized that the same could be said for Loki, the flip side, the reverse. That perhaps he loomed large to Loki long after he'd left. That there will be some small part of himself haunting the trickster for the rest of his long days. (Or. Not so long. Depending on timelines, he supposes.)
In a sense, the power of the Mind isn't so different from the power of Space: it opens both ways. Not to a point of reading minds, no, but something harder to describe, to explain. One cannot touch without being touched in return.
Which is, in a sense, something that Loki understands. When Loki finally has enough of himself present to speak. Clint gives him his undivided attention. That feels owed, too. It's important. It's important.
He tries not to react. To just take it in, just watch, let it wash over him. But it still pushes the air out of his chest. Not the apology; that's foreseen. Not the permission, in a sense, to hate Loki. It's even after I pretended not to care, it's the idea of Loki reaching out deliberately, it's a quiet offer of help.
What is he supposed to do with that besides run away? He tries to remember how even breathing works. It's harder than it should be. Like a pressure on his chest. Recontextualizing what happened doesn't change what happened. He's pretty sure. So why is this so hard? Why is it so hard to stay on an even keel in the face of Loki's pain? He looks away, to the ground, away from Loki's watery eyes and splotchy face and the everything that he apparently feels. It's so much. It is so much, and it would be so easy in return to simply shut down in the face of it all.
He finally breathes, swallows until his throat clicks, works his jaw until he can open it up and try to let words come out.]
I expect you not to care cuz it's easier. Than dealing with the care. [Than dealing with knowing there may have been care and that it changed nothing.] I don't know how you can help. That's not me being a smartass; I really don't...know. If you make an offer...I can at least listen.
[He raises his eyes to Loki again. I saw my pain in you. Didn't change a fucking thing. But to acknowledge it is still something. Better than nothing.] I did everything you wanted. It wanted. For you. Every single thing. And more. I cared. And I don't know how much of that was me, and how much of that was the thing inside me.
[It goes further than that. That sometimes he doesn't know overall how much of what happened was him, and how much was the Stone. Because he's pretty sure the ratio is a lot different from what people on the outside assumed. He's pretty sure a lot of it was him.]