Matt turned, a confused expression on his face. "Why would I want to fight?"
Clint nodded at Matt's clenched fists. "Your hands."
"Oh." Matt hadn't even realized they'd been balled up into fists. He unfurled his fingers, one hand rubbing over the other's bruised and cut knuckles. "No. I don't want to fight." A beat. "Not you, at least."
"Yeah. I get that." Clint went and stood next to Matt. "So. Seems you've got a real mess on your hands. Even worse, the people following you know it, too. Taking one look at you, they know it."
Matt grimaced, rubbing his knuckles and still facing out towards the city. He said nothing.
Clint sighed. "You have to be bigger than this, you know. Not just fighting in the streets. In meetings, in every talk you have. When people look at you, they have to see a chance of winning."
"You think I don't know that? You think I'm not trying to do that?"
"I'm sure you are. I'm saying, you have to try something different, because it's not working." Clint's voice was frank, and he saw the hurt on Matt's face. The hurt wouldn't be there though if Matt didn't already think what Clint said was true. "For what it's worth, I do think you can do it. I've seen people do it." Steve came to mind. Now Sam. "It might mean that you can't always be yourself, or the person you want to be. You have to be the person they need. And if anyone can figure out what people need, it's the guy who can read everyone like a book."
Clint gave him a pat on the shoulder, then turned to walk away. He paused to only add, "And you find the one person you can be yourself with no matter what, so you don't go crazy in the process."
"And if you don't find that person?"
"Well. You were already pretty crazy to start. You might be fine."
Both men smiled at one another.
"C'mon. Let's eat dinner." They went back to Claire's.
~*~
Inside the bedroom, Claire settled into a chair and took a bite of the chicken with garlic and ginger stir fry Matt had just thrown together in less than a half-hour. The man did know how to cook. It was one of his many charms, to live alongside his flaws. Looking at the injured young woman in front of her, Claire shook her head to wave off any concerns.
"Someone bleeding on my carpet in the middle of the night is usually how I meet people these days," she said wryly. She'd known many of the vigilantes in the city before they even met one another because of it. "It's all right. It's my job. Just like I know getting hurt is usually part of your job." It was a dangerous one, but she knew the necessity for it. "You're one of my better patients, so thank you for that. It's really annoying when someone comes to you bleeding then doesn't listen to a word you say about how to keep it from happening again immediately."
She heard Matt's voice coming in through the window.
no subject
Clint nodded at Matt's clenched fists. "Your hands."
"Oh." Matt hadn't even realized they'd been balled up into fists. He unfurled his fingers, one hand rubbing over the other's bruised and cut knuckles. "No. I don't want to fight." A beat. "Not you, at least."
"Yeah. I get that." Clint went and stood next to Matt. "So. Seems you've got a real mess on your hands. Even worse, the people following you know it, too. Taking one look at you, they know it."
Matt grimaced, rubbing his knuckles and still facing out towards the city. He said nothing.
Clint sighed. "You have to be bigger than this, you know. Not just fighting in the streets. In meetings, in every talk you have. When people look at you, they have to see a chance of winning."
"You think I don't know that? You think I'm not trying to do that?"
"I'm sure you are. I'm saying, you have to try something different, because it's not working." Clint's voice was frank, and he saw the hurt on Matt's face. The hurt wouldn't be there though if Matt didn't already think what Clint said was true. "For what it's worth, I do think you can do it. I've seen people do it." Steve came to mind. Now Sam. "It might mean that you can't always be yourself, or the person you want to be. You have to be the person they need. And if anyone can figure out what people need, it's the guy who can read everyone like a book."
Clint gave him a pat on the shoulder, then turned to walk away. He paused to only add, "And you find the one person you can be yourself with no matter what, so you don't go crazy in the process."
"And if you don't find that person?"
"Well. You were already pretty crazy to start. You might be fine."
Both men smiled at one another.
"C'mon. Let's eat dinner." They went back to Claire's.
~*~
Inside the bedroom, Claire settled into a chair and took a bite of the chicken with garlic and ginger stir fry Matt had just thrown together in less than a half-hour. The man did know how to cook. It was one of his many charms, to live alongside his flaws. Looking at the injured young woman in front of her, Claire shook her head to wave off any concerns.
"Someone bleeding on my carpet in the middle of the night is usually how I meet people these days," she said wryly. She'd known many of the vigilantes in the city before they even met one another because of it. "It's all right. It's my job. Just like I know getting hurt is usually part of your job." It was a dangerous one, but she knew the necessity for it. "You're one of my better patients, so thank you for that. It's really annoying when someone comes to you bleeding then doesn't listen to a word you say about how to keep it from happening again immediately."
She heard Matt's voice coming in through the window.
"Speaking of the devil."