Clint chuckled a little at Bucky's comparison. According to Thor, there were a damn lot of people working underground in Two, and they did probably just about count as mole people at this point. But he let it go. Nobody was going to believe him about 13 anyway. And why would they? It was just a stupid little hope, a fraction of a fraction of nothing. But at least it made him feel better, the idea that maybe there was a place they could escape to, one day. If they tried hard enough. And that was some comfort, if nothing else. Like believing in God.
He was quiet, then, absorbing the words. Bucky had a point. It wasn't like being emotionally stable was easy for either of them. Any of them. They were all of them fucked up, and they all had good reason to be. So Clint didn't argue, even though part of him wanted to. She's not just someone, he thought, the same way Steve wasn't just someone to Bucky. It was one thing to have someone love you. It wasn't even that hard, when you were a Victor, a person with power and fame and usually some money. People fell in love with those things all the time. But another Victor, a someone who knew something about what the Arena was really like... that was a different story entirely. That was a miracle. Had to be.
"Told you he wouldn't," Clint murmured. "He's smart," he scratched under the kitten's chin. "He knows better than to tangle with a force of nature." He nudged Bucky with one shoulder. "Sorry but his middle name's already Buchanan. From what I hear, that's making a pretty strong comeback."