Clint held up a hand as Steve apologized, trying to cut him off. It wasn't necessary. Sure, it had hurt him, but everyone was hurting tonight, and at least Clint had one kind of painkiller to help him out. Steve didn't have anything, and the fact that he didn't immediately go for the alcohol meant that he was denying himself the easiest emotional dampener available to him. Which was probably smart, when you got right down to it. For all his blundering, Steve did manage to be smart about that, and that was good. A blessing. The only thing Steve seemed to be addicted to these days was getting into trouble.
As he sat down on the couch, Clint scooted over, very aware of how few steps Steve had taken to make himself comfortable. As if he wasn't staying. As if he wasn't welcome. "Take your damn coat off," he muttered, something a little chiding in his voice as he slipped his arm beneath his body to lever himself into a sitting position. It hurt to move, but he kept his face relatively stoic as he scooted closer to him, waiting to fling an arm around him until he had his jacket off.
He pulled him in, his ribs tender and jolting beneath the added weight, but Clint didn't care. "You talk," he said, his voice steady. "You talk about anything you want. I'll listen."