The ice gave him something to focus on, a method, a process, results that he could see and feel, and there was something comforting in the monotony of the actions. The city might have been going to hell around them, but there was still work to be done. People to be rescued.
Rescue. A funny thing for an assassin to be doing.
He glanced up as Natasha joined him once more, giving her a look that said nothing before he turned back to the car he worked on, using his elbow to break through the ice, watching as it cracked outwards in a spider web pattern. "Here and there," Clint responded, his voice even and measured. "You didn't see me that long ago, Natasha. Just weeks, actually."