"So it won't be retirement. It'll be a... a farewell tour. Let the fact of the Quell hang over it. Let them assume." Clint didn't finish the thought, though. How it would be easy to spin it, to suggest in the minds of the public that he'd be a pretty good bet for a ringer. His party, his job, his genuine charm, he well-known affection for many of the other high-profile Victors... it was a good recipe. And besides, it was clear that the choices had already been made, and they'd be idiots not to put him in, this year, given the potential for story.
But he couldn't talk about that. Not directly, not to Natasha. They'd have to, sometime. But not now. Not yet. It was easier to think of going in himself, but Natasha. That was a still unthinkable. He ran his fingers up her neck, fingers circling deftly at the base of her skull and sighed. "At least I could go back to Eleven convincingly. Might not be a particularly useful district, but you never know. It could be good to have a read."