[He doesn't understand. He doesn't understand this Loki, at least. That somehow this information, this fact, both enrages him and panics him so much that he can hardly stand. The world spins on without The Avengers; it has plenty of other heroes now.
So he's baffled, yeah. Disturbed by the reactions, the insistence of something that is not. There is something tremendously wrong with this version of Loki.
And what might be the worst part is the tiny fraction of Clint that wants to do what he can to soothe it away. It's annoying. It's absurd. It persists.
At the very least, even if they can't reach any sort of reasonable agreement, he should leave the guy in a state that is not worse than when they started. Even if Loki might deserve it. And he's not entirely certain that Loki does. (This Loki. Because now that it's clear that this one differs from the one he knows, knew, he can no longer be sure of what his Loki experienced. Maybe that one held more of his mind. Maybe that one held no care or affection at all. It's likely, now, that he'll never know. Which makes this potential for catharsis a tease at best.)
He takes a few breaths as though to calm himself, and then he sits as well. Slow and easy and cross-legged, hands resting on his knees. With others, he might try a soothing touch if possible. This, this is a situation he's going to treat not unlike a cornered animal. Keep his voice as even as possible. Don't get upset. Don't get angry. Maybe don't snark, but given this is Clint, that's asking a whole lot.]
Making me kinda envious of your universe. Mine's not set up quite that way. That's okay. Earth's still standing. Lotta people in it that can step up to the plate.
You don't owe a debt to me. You owe one to the other Hawkeye, the one you know from where you're from. My Loki owes me a debt. You can't join my world's Avengers because they broke up- [he blows a little air between his lips] -about eight years ago or so. The legacy lives in, but the original crew, we're done. And that's okay. You've got your Avengers.
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So he's baffled, yeah. Disturbed by the reactions, the insistence of something that is not. There is something tremendously wrong with this version of Loki.
And what might be the worst part is the tiny fraction of Clint that wants to do what he can to soothe it away. It's annoying. It's absurd. It persists.
At the very least, even if they can't reach any sort of reasonable agreement, he should leave the guy in a state that is not worse than when they started. Even if Loki might deserve it. And he's not entirely certain that Loki does. (This Loki. Because now that it's clear that this one differs from the one he knows, knew, he can no longer be sure of what his Loki experienced. Maybe that one held more of his mind. Maybe that one held no care or affection at all. It's likely, now, that he'll never know. Which makes this potential for catharsis a tease at best.)
He takes a few breaths as though to calm himself, and then he sits as well. Slow and easy and cross-legged, hands resting on his knees. With others, he might try a soothing touch if possible. This, this is a situation he's going to treat not unlike a cornered animal. Keep his voice as even as possible. Don't get upset. Don't get angry. Maybe don't snark, but given this is Clint, that's asking a whole lot.]
Making me kinda envious of your universe. Mine's not set up quite that way. That's okay. Earth's still standing. Lotta people in it that can step up to the plate.
You don't owe a debt to me. You owe one to the other Hawkeye, the one you know from where you're from. My Loki owes me a debt. You can't join my world's Avengers because they broke up- [he blows a little air between his lips] -about eight years ago or so. The legacy lives in, but the original crew, we're done. And that's okay. You've got your Avengers.
Is that enough?