Clint had just finished taking care of the dishwasher and sorting out things in the fridge that couldn't be used anymore when Liho grew restless. At least the kitten had kind of good manners, starting to whine in time and stroll around the room as if searching for something, and Clint was quick enough to open the door for her so she could leave. A little cleaning up to not crawl up the wall was okay, but he definitely wasn't in the mood to scrub the living room carpet.
"You take care of yourself, furball", he shouted quietly when Lino bolted outside without giving him another glance. The ignorance still hurt a little, but it was mainly for Natasha that he hoped little one would be well and back soon. If she had even one less thing to smile about... He had no idea how to handle that. He didn't even know how to fucking get through this evening.
He hated himself for feeling so relieved when he could her rummage in the bathroom. If activity helped her best right now, he certainly wouldn't interfere. He ignored that ugly, mean laugh in the back of his head, telling him, his cowardice reached an impressive new level. If he forced himself around her when neither of them had anything to say, what good would that do?
That left him withe considerable job of finding something to do himself, though. Remembering that annoying scene during diner he tried to put away all loose objects lying around for next time, when Liho would be here, which mostly meant stuffing them in the already overstuffed living room cabinet. That took about five minutes and he was left standing in the middle of the room again.
He dreaded sitting down on the sofa or worse, in the bed room, because it would just make him feel this unnatural silence and coldness even more. So he went to the other rooms and continued putting stuff in drawers and cabinets, not even knowing what for since he definitely didn't plan to let the cat live in here, leave alone in all rooms. But what else was he supposed to do?
Only when he walked over a hatch right before the kitchen for like the hundredth time, he remembered, that house had a cellar too, though hardly used. He didn't have enough stuff to need the space, and if he was in Italy, he definitely preferred spending his time in the sun. Usually. When his partner and him didn't happen to have the deepest crisis they had ever had.
But he had been down there a few times, when he had been on that long stay during his Italy mission, as he vaguely remembered, and that memory gave him the final live-saving idea. He got his equipment from the dresser bottom drawer and left the hatch wide open when he went down the stairs, to let Natasha know where he was.
He tried not to grimace when an ocean of moldy air welcomed him, but it wasn't as bad as he had thought. Apparently Angelina had cleaned down here too though he hadn't even asked her to. He dully wondered what she had thought when she had spotted the shooting range, save for a small fitness station the only furniture down here. Maybe she knew and suspected far more about him than he knew.
He was far too tired of everything to give further thought to that. He rather used the advantages and pulled himself the perfectly clean footstool out from under the tiny working table. Tinkering with the newest arrowhead he had brought from New York was as good as anything to pass the time. There wasn't much to do left and he got more done than in the whole last month in fact. He kept his focus forcefully at the task at hand and used it to push everything else away from his conscious mind, and he hadn't been able to do that in quite a time. It was sad enough that a catastrophe had to happen first before he could find back that concentration.
It didn't last long. As soon as the model was ready to test and he got his bow out of its transport case, he could already feel his mind drifting again. How long he had been busy? He could just hope that Natasha would call for him if she needed anything. And at the same time he doubted, she would, not on this evening, and that thought brought back all anger, all helplessness at once.
Gritting his teeth, he took his stance at the range, determined to blow all that crap he couldn't change right back out of his head where it belonged, at least for another hour or so. The first shot barely hit the edge of the target on the other side of the room. The second ricocheted from the wall and fell to the floor with a metallic, shrill thud.
Clint could feel his hands start to shake when he went back to get that fucking arrow for the third time from a place where it had no business. More anger, frustration, uncertainty, all this bullshit that had no place in his training haunted him like he was holding a bow for the first time in his life.
So far for his glorious idea of distracting himself. He hadn't felt that fucking lost all evening.
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Date: 2014-06-12 09:05 pm (UTC)From:"You take care of yourself, furball", he shouted quietly when Lino bolted outside without giving him another glance. The ignorance still hurt a little, but it was mainly for Natasha that he hoped little one would be well and back soon. If she had even one less thing to smile about... He had no idea how to handle that. He didn't even know how to fucking get through this evening.
He hated himself for feeling so relieved when he could her rummage in the bathroom. If activity helped her best right now, he certainly wouldn't interfere. He ignored that ugly, mean laugh in the back of his head, telling him, his cowardice reached an impressive new level. If he forced himself around her when neither of them had anything to say, what good would that do?
That left him withe considerable job of finding something to do himself, though. Remembering that annoying scene during diner he tried to put away all loose objects lying around for next time, when Liho would be here, which mostly meant stuffing them in the already overstuffed living room cabinet. That took about five minutes and he was left standing in the middle of the room again.
He dreaded sitting down on the sofa or worse, in the bed room, because it would just make him feel this unnatural silence and coldness even more. So he went to the other rooms and continued putting stuff in drawers and cabinets, not even knowing what for since he definitely didn't plan to let the cat live in here, leave alone in all rooms. But what else was he supposed to do?
Only when he walked over a hatch right before the kitchen for like the hundredth time, he remembered, that house had a cellar too, though hardly used. He didn't have enough stuff to need the space, and if he was in Italy, he definitely preferred spending his time in the sun. Usually. When his partner and him didn't happen to have the deepest crisis they had ever had.
But he had been down there a few times, when he had been on that long stay during his Italy mission, as he vaguely remembered, and that memory gave him the final live-saving idea. He got his equipment from the dresser bottom drawer and left the hatch wide open when he went down the stairs, to let Natasha know where he was.
He tried not to grimace when an ocean of moldy air welcomed him, but it wasn't as bad as he had thought. Apparently Angelina had cleaned down here too though he hadn't even asked her to. He dully wondered what she had thought when she had spotted the shooting range, save for a small fitness station the only furniture down here. Maybe she knew and suspected far more about him than he knew.
He was far too tired of everything to give further thought to that. He rather used the advantages and pulled himself the perfectly clean footstool out from under the tiny working table. Tinkering with the newest arrowhead he had brought from New York was as good as anything to pass the time. There wasn't much to do left and he got more done than in the whole last month in fact. He kept his focus forcefully at the task at hand and used it to push everything else away from his conscious mind, and he hadn't been able to do that in quite a time. It was sad enough that a catastrophe had to happen first before he could find back that concentration.
It didn't last long. As soon as the model was ready to test and he got his bow out of its transport case, he could already feel his mind drifting again. How long he had been busy? He could just hope that Natasha would call for him if she needed anything. And at the same time he doubted, she would, not on this evening, and that thought brought back all anger, all helplessness at once.
Gritting his teeth, he took his stance at the range, determined to blow all that crap he couldn't change right back out of his head where it belonged, at least for another hour or so. The first shot barely hit the edge of the target on the other side of the room. The second ricocheted from the wall and fell to the floor with a metallic, shrill thud.
Clint could feel his hands start to shake when he went back to get that fucking arrow for the third time from a place where it had no business. More anger, frustration, uncertainty, all this bullshit that had no place in his training haunted him like he was holding a bow for the first time in his life.
So far for his glorious idea of distracting himself. He hadn't felt that fucking lost all evening.