This was the kind of stuff, the big emotion stuff, that left Clint feeling stupid and a little useless, if he was being honest. He'd always been bad at it -- at looking at the bigger picture of it and assessing how to fix or deal with it.
It wasn't like he wasn't paying attention. There was a lot going on, a lot of stuff to have opinions on. Their -- Natasha and Bucky's -- Tony was dead in some other time and place, joining the ranks with Natasha and it was shitty. It just was. This wasn't his Tony, but he liked him all the same -- Clint tended to always like Tony, even when the guy was at his worst. His own had done a lot for him for years and years and that wasn't something he'd ever forget. And like Natasha, Clint didn't really see them as completely different people. They just were, even if their experiences were different.
But this wasn't just about Natasha being sad about someone else she cared about being dead. It went deeper. Like she thought maybe this was all on her, like what she'd given somehow hadn't amounted to enough, and she was beating herself up for that.
Certainly Bucky felt conflicted in some ways too, what with Tony Stark being the -- well. Maybe not the instigator of this moment, but for having a big part in it, even if he was unaware. There was stuff there too, stuff that wasn't settled. Clint had never fully asked, he'd only offered himself up as a distraction.
He was good at that. It wasn't really good in terms of fixing or mediating or whatever, but it was -- it was something he could do that he thought helped. Maybe it wasn't big picture, but it was momentary, like squinting until only one single thing was in focus.
Maybe he could work with that.
Clint, realizing he'd been quieter than he normally ever was, glanced over at Bucky and offered an expression that spoke of raw worry and some doubt, but when he squeezed at his hand, Clint decided that that wasn't something he was willing to give up just yet, and let their fingers tangle together and stay that way. "Whatever she needs," he repeated. This wasn't about him or what he needed, and Clint absolutely would not turn it into that. He nodded - his place would definitely be best. It was just a matter of getting there.
No point in stalling. When they made it to the House, he opened the front door and didn't allow himself any pause before stepping inside, hand still firmly in Bucky's.