Clint tilted his head to the side a little, listening. Bucky had a point, although it sure as hell felt like pity, sometimes. Still, it was probably best to let it go. The sooner he did that, the sooner he'd be able to move past the whole stupid night. He hoped. He gave a halfhearted nod, but then settled back against the couch as Bucky took him through what had happened, from the beginning.
Truth was, he knew most of it already, but he didn't necessarily let that show on his face. He'd been careful in making sure that Bucky didn't know that Natasha had already told Clint the truth about her arrangement with Bucky. It was supposed to be a secret, so he'd acted accordingly. Clint's stomach roiled again, a little, as it dawned on him that that particular secret might be the last one he'd keep for her, but he took a deep breath and pushed through it. The drug helped. It helped immensely.
"If there's a crown," Clint said, "it should at least be made of chocolate or pastries or something so I can do something useful with it." He took another sip of his tea and half-smiled as Moo scrambled back onto Bucky's chest. "God, I fuckin' hope they don't pull that shit again. I'm hoping it's just to rev people up about the Quell." That was true. He was hoping for that, but Clint had a bad feeling about all of this. If this was really just a publicity stunt for the Quell, it would've made more sense to showcase Tony's Games, not his own. Something was coming, Clint couldn't help thinking, and it was almost certainly darker than his reenactment.
He shook it off, though. It was amazingly easy not to linger on the future, so he didn't. "Good to know. I'll adapt. And so will you, it seems, since that cat's never gonna let you alone, now. Congratulations Bucky, you now own a cow. You're welcome."