The Unquiet Thought, Interlude 1
Figured it was about time to put another part up; I was so busy writing it that I forgot to post. Whoops.
More News: I am applying to Grad School in November, so I may occasionally link to original work through one of these posts to get a critique for it (if you don't mind). And I will also be brain dead, because SO MUCH WORK.
Enjoy! Sorry about the wait.
Interlude (Clint)
“What does it feel like?” the god had whispered. “To be a thing that I get to play with.”
-
Clint goes down to Tony’s workshop after the inventor has been forced to eat and sleep. He’d tried to wait it out, maybe not as hard as another could have, but damnit he can’t deal with this shit right now.
He is perched on one of the tables with his left leg resting on the surface, foot tucked under his right knee where it hangs off the edge. At least an hour has gone by since Jarvis let him in and, aside from the constant impulse to fidget that he hasn’t felt since he was a child, he’s hardly moved. If Tony isn’t here, the others rarely venture down; he’ll be safe for a few more hours or until JARVIS tattles (which he hasn’t, yet).
It hadn’t taken long for him to be noticed by the bots; as soon as he sat down he had turned to the sound of chirping and Dummy’s ‘head’ raised to his level, old tennis ball in its claw (You peeked up from its charging station and then ducked back down when Clint looked over). So there he was, tossing around a ball and watching Dummy chase after it like a puppy, then bring it back (or not bring it back), whir, and spin around in excitement.
(“He’s… Loki is an A.I.?”)
Clint throws the ball again.
He doesn’t care.
Rush of ice in his veins cold settling in his eyes burn then he Knows. So fast. It had happened so fast, out of his control even if he was in control of himself the entire time. Something in him that told him to do what this person said because this person was the one that said it. Even looking back, feeling the way he does about what Loki did to him, the actions don’t seem wrong.
(“You have heart.”)
His tone had been almost affectionate, longing. Because he doesn’t have one, Clint thinks vindictively. He doesn’t have one at all.
When everything had been described to Thor in the aftermath, the way it worked, the way Clint (and Selvig) had felt, a mixed expression crossed over the god’s (alien’s, whatever) face. Clint thinks of the anger and hurt that waged there, of what they now know of Loki, and wonders if the entire business was just to get this shot at Thor. It’s what he would have done (he thinks of Barney), or at least what he might have done if he had the spine for it.
He is an assassin. A spy. He has the spine for Anything.
But something about Barney always…
Clint throws the ball again.
Loki killed Phil. He killed him. He’s dead.
So they were justified in killing Loki, or at least what he was. He won’t feel guilty about that.
He won’t.
But why does he have to stay here.
Chapter 2
More News: I am applying to Grad School in November, so I may occasionally link to original work through one of these posts to get a critique for it (if you don't mind). And I will also be brain dead, because SO MUCH WORK.
Enjoy! Sorry about the wait.
Interlude (Clint)
“What does it feel like?” the god had whispered. “To be a thing that I get to play with.”
-
Clint goes down to Tony’s workshop after the inventor has been forced to eat and sleep. He’d tried to wait it out, maybe not as hard as another could have, but damnit he can’t deal with this shit right now.
He is perched on one of the tables with his left leg resting on the surface, foot tucked under his right knee where it hangs off the edge. At least an hour has gone by since Jarvis let him in and, aside from the constant impulse to fidget that he hasn’t felt since he was a child, he’s hardly moved. If Tony isn’t here, the others rarely venture down; he’ll be safe for a few more hours or until JARVIS tattles (which he hasn’t, yet).
It hadn’t taken long for him to be noticed by the bots; as soon as he sat down he had turned to the sound of chirping and Dummy’s ‘head’ raised to his level, old tennis ball in its claw (You peeked up from its charging station and then ducked back down when Clint looked over). So there he was, tossing around a ball and watching Dummy chase after it like a puppy, then bring it back (or not bring it back), whir, and spin around in excitement.
(“He’s… Loki is an A.I.?”)
Clint throws the ball again.
He doesn’t care.
Rush of ice in his veins cold settling in his eyes burn then he Knows. So fast. It had happened so fast, out of his control even if he was in control of himself the entire time. Something in him that told him to do what this person said because this person was the one that said it. Even looking back, feeling the way he does about what Loki did to him, the actions don’t seem wrong.
(“You have heart.”)
His tone had been almost affectionate, longing. Because he doesn’t have one, Clint thinks vindictively. He doesn’t have one at all.
When everything had been described to Thor in the aftermath, the way it worked, the way Clint (and Selvig) had felt, a mixed expression crossed over the god’s (alien’s, whatever) face. Clint thinks of the anger and hurt that waged there, of what they now know of Loki, and wonders if the entire business was just to get this shot at Thor. It’s what he would have done (he thinks of Barney), or at least what he might have done if he had the spine for it.
He is an assassin. A spy. He has the spine for Anything.
But something about Barney always…
Clint throws the ball again.
Loki killed Phil. He killed him. He’s dead.
So they were justified in killing Loki, or at least what he was. He won’t feel guilty about that.
He won’t.
But why does he have to stay here.
Chapter 2