Clinton Francis Barton

“Well, I guess as long as people underestimate you it works out in your favor…Although might I suggest not blurting it out?”

Fair point. Being chatty was a tell as it was, without his offering up any other clues to his identity in the process. If it had been someone who had actually known him...

“Well, I wouldn’t, not in a fight. You haven’t tried to attack me, and haven’t given me any reason to attack you, so...“

“Are you sure that’s the best way to go about that?” 

“As vigilantes go, I’m not exactly the kind to lighten the mood. It’s not as if you could go and speak to him anyway, considering your current…predicament.” He figured it was best not to attempt to logically reason with Clint at this point in time. It would be a tall order to keep that up while talking about himself in the third person. “The Hand can be defeated. I know, because I’ve done it before. It’s not easy, and it came at…a cost, but it’s possible.” Perhaps Clint’s death-faking had been more of an advantageous strategy than he’d first assumed. Nobody would come after his loved ones if they didn’t even think he was alive. He really isn’t sure how to respond to that. People he’s won cases for, people he’s saved from muggers - they’ve been grateful, but nobody’s ever spelt it out in those words before. It would have been wrong to hold onto resentment when you had the potential to do something positive. To make the best out of the situation. “…I appreciate the sentiment, and I’m sure he would too. You know, I’ll think I’ll take you up on that. Just to be sure…you do actually know how to do parkour, right?” 

He’s half-joking, there, but only half.

Couldn’t he? Matt Murdock, even if he was not Daredevil, was blind. Clint imagined that he would only have his voice from news soundbites and the like. Probably not something committed to memory. He could just give him a fake name, offer to impersonate Daredevil, and...

Well. This was just... easier. If he wasn’t Murdock, he wouldn’t have any further advice on The Hand. “...you were right, I’ll concede. Even with your intel, I wasn’t exactly prepared for this. It’s... not how I’m used to doing things.” Natasha would have a better job at this, the sneaking, the uncovering secrets. He’d ask for her help, but she had her hands full with all the Steve and Barnes stuff. The latter told her he was alive, but he hadn’t even seen her since his apparent demise.

Daredevil, Nat, Barnes, and Bobbi. The only ones who knew he was alive. Maybe Jenn, but... he blew that, didn’t he? The chances of her forgiving him...

Well, he wouldn’t.

And then Wanda... what with everything with her father... Pietro leaving just as soon as he had come back...

The only person to hurt his loved ones in all this was him, but wasn’t it preferable to the alternative?

Oh well, his life, his problems. They were talking about Maybe Murdock’s. “Yes, I can. Leaping from rooftop to rooftop, doing little flips. It’s nothing.”

“…did you absolutely have to make that reference?” He sighed. “Yes, well, everyone has and of course, I, Daredevil wouldn’t know anything about what Matt Murdock may or may not need.” You never knew who was listening. “I could imagine, however, that it would be useful in assisting him to clear his name. A good lawyer doesn’t narrow his options early.” He’d leave it to Clint to decide whether that referred to taking up the impersonation offer, or about the prospect of faking his own death.

“Mm, no. No, I did not. It was a choice. An attempt to lighten up the situation... though I suppose, it makes no real difference to you. Should have gone to Murdock, it’s his life that’s no doubt gone to hell. Pun intended... and if you aren’t him...”

Clint was 87% sure it was him, however. Imagining what may or may not be useful to Murdock bumped it up to 90%.

“I don’t want to make a mess of things... rather, more of a mess than they already are. You helped me, though... gave me intel... with which, I’m not that much closer to achieving my nigh impossible goal, but that's beside the point. I owe you one, and even if I didn’t... Murdock’s a good guy.”

He’d make a lawyer joke, but it’d make him feel bad... because Jennifer.

“Read up on him, after that article. The guy has every reason to be bitter and resentful towards the world, but in his own way he’s out there doing his best to help people. People who can’t help themselves, in more than a few instances. After all he’s done, he doesn’t deserve this. After all you have done, you don’t deserve it either. So if either of your lives are made easier by me throwing a billyclub or doing parkour along the rooftop of a brownstone... the offer stands.

She let the conversation progress naturally and watching him while he spoke. A hand reached out to his arm, gently taking hold of his bicep. With a gentle squeeze, she nodded. “Hey, Clint. Don’t feel bad about anything. None of it was your fault, that part is true. I didn’t expect you to come save me. You know I can handle myself pretty easily. But after the first couple of months, I didn’t even know if I was going to get out. How were you sure that I was even alive.” Bobbi’s hand rubbed the blond’s arm and pulled it away. 

“You don’t have to be sorry for anything that you did or didn’t do, because you know what worked for you back when I was gone. And I’m not holding any of it against you.” a smile. “I am happy you found someone, really I am.” leaning closer she kissed his cheek. “I will always love you and I appreciate that I have a friend in you, thank you, Clinton. Same for you.” she nodded. “As long as you’re happy.”

"You can say ‘don’t feel bad’, but...” How different would things have been, if he noticed something was wrong sooner? If he hadn’t taken the Skrulls at their word, if he had kept looking? What would their lives look like at this point? There was no point torturing himself, torturing either of them, by dwelling on it but... it was easy to say that, not easy to not think about it.

Reaching for Bobbi’s hand when she drew it back, Clint shook his head with a bemused sigh. “You died, Bobbi. Why are you the one trying to console me? ...I’ll always love you too, and I’ll always have your back.”

Was he happy...? He... had been, surprisingly. Before he screwed his life up again, biting off more than he could chew with this whole ninja business. Nat knew he was still alive, but he hadn’t seen her in... ages. Kate didn’t know, and Jennifer...?

          ( he’d been right not to promise, but at least he wasn’t a horrible singer )

The streets below are unbearably crowded, huddled masses of people gathered from far and wide to watch this one event. The hotels are booked (far in advance, she’s sure), but there are other ways of ensuring a good view, and when you have the right skills to infiltrate far more secure facilities than a New York City building’s rooftop, there’s no much capable of standing in your way.

Natasha settles at the edge of the rooftop, legs dangling over the edge. She has no fear of heights, but even so, she’s grateful it’s not a windy night.

          ( more so, she’s sure he’d catch her should she fall )

Natasha adjusts her scarf, shielding herself from the bite of the night’s air, and pats the spot next to her, holding out her hand for the container of food they’d bought on their way here.

     “You must be used to this.” Natasha gestures about them– “The bird’s eye view, I mean.”

         “A bit. Granted, when you’re in a sniper’s nest, you don’t really stop to appreciate the view.” He hands her the food container as he sits next to her, adjusting his collar as he looks out over the city. He can’t help but be mildly amused by the fact she felt the need to clarify, though in all honesty he wasn’t used to having dinner with a friend. Or being friends with his coworkers, for that matter. 

They would probably always be closer than ‘normal’ colleagues though, due to the circumstances of her becoming a coworker. In a way, this whole spontaneous excursion was a way of acknowledging that without actually saying anything. Maybe it was him projecting, but he imagined her life was rather lonely... even now that she didn’t have to look over her shoulder all the time. 

     ( though he knew better than to expect her to stop doing so )