The sun was beating down on him, and Clint closed his eyes.
He was in the opposite corner of the world, and nobody that he knew was there to find him. His wife and the kids were in some secret federally protected location he was not allowed to know for their own protection and he missed them terribly, but he was glad that their connection to him hadn't gotten them killed. He just wished that he could see them more often.
But it was good he hadn't seen them this past weeks, because it meant that maybe they were safe from all the hell he'd been a part of. All the bloodshed, the screams, all the people thrown into walls, those displays of magic that still made him shim shiver, all those broken bones and coughed up blood. He was still a bit messed in the head, if he was honest.
Lots of nightmares, sometimes even full blown night terrors.
Because, unlike many of the others he had no special powers (well, Stark didn't either, but he was much more messed in the head than him) and sometimes all that he had to live through, all that he saw and was part of really got to him, and it was then difficult to go back to a relatively normal life. If reality bending gems and godly supervillains from outer space where real, then how could he trust anything?
Sometimes he felt a strange fear that he was just a little ant that could be stepped on at any moment and that he would never be able to protect himself and his loved ones and nothing would be ever be okay again his whole normal world would disappear.... But this didn't happen often. Even if he was an ant, Lang had shown the world that ants could be fierce, too. And he was an ant with a bow and arrow, which was more effective than anyone gave it credit for.
He wasn't usually that reflective, not at least when it came to the job. He had a fairly clear idea of what was wrong and what was right, and he followed his instincts, acted, protected people without giving it much thought. He wasn't a perfect soldier and often defied orders of his superiors (and happened when he met Nat, for example, or when he was asked to shoot Thor) but when he thought a cause was just... Then he simply went against the enemy and helped as much as he could.
But sometimes his head got muddled, and sometimes things weren't that easy. Because sometimes he remembered all those things he did when he was Loki's puppet, he remembered all the things Thanos could force people to do, he remembered what Nat and Steve's friend had been forced to do, and sometimes he felt afraid, afraid of being snatched like that again. The main ingredient in his nightmares.
It was why he had needed some time away, away from absolutely all of them, in some place where nobody cared about the Hulk or Tony Stark because they were too busy with their own problems, the pollution, the over massification of tourists, the radical right parties... The Greeks had enough on their plates, and Clint hadn't heard a single words about the Avengers or the global incidents in his whole ten days here, nor he had anyone recognise him. (Although he wasn't all that recognised back home, if he was honest)
Athens was nice, and good for his general health and state of mind. There were two sides to Athens: the pretty historical one, swarmed by tourists (which was nice, and kind of helped Clint ground himself into an stable reality; if these buildings had stayed there and existed for thousands of years, so could he) and then there was another darker Athens, dirtier, noisier, but also more genuine, filled with people just doing their honest jobs, many of them struggling, but who also had time for great food, great music and being really loud when they were drinking, or playing card games in bars.
And a good thing of Athens was the night life, who went much beyond pubs or night clubs. Because it was so hot during the day that everyone did a lot of things at night. Dinner was ridiculously late and post dinner could stretch itself until, like, midnight. People were out on the streets at night, living their lives talking Greek, or English, or french (and none of the tourists cared about what had happened either, busy as they were with their Greek holiday) and Clint was just having a pint of yogurt on the street, in the middle of the night with all of them, getting his head back into its place, regaining his faith on the continuity of humanity when he saw him.
But it couldn't be, could it?
Quick as lightning, he cornered that nightmarish shadow and threw him into a wall, his strong arm on the man's neck. Pale green-blue eyes glimmered in the hot Greek night. It really was him.
“Loki.”
“Barton! Tι κανείς?”
He was smiling, and asking how he was. Clint had him on a choke hold and he was smiling and honest to god smile. Suddenly, his nightmares didn't seem so big, so threatening. Loki was apparently drunk and unarmed, and under his control. Suddenly, he was the boot and Loki was the ant.
“Aren't you supposed to be dead?”
“I don't know,” Loki said, slurring the words. “maybe I am. You want to kill me to see if I am dead?”
The ant, putting himself under the boot. This was odd, and disrupted Clint's recently build sense of reality. Even in here.
“Most people do want to kill me, but you actually have good reason for it. And... I am glad that you are here because I meant to apologize.”
Clint frowned. Where was the venom? The confrontation that would end with him sparing Loki's life as he begged? This was not what he had in mind when he thought about closure for his time as puppet. Some Greek people looked strangely at them, but figured it was some weird foreigner business. Loki kept talking
“I think about myself back then, and I am ashamed. “You crave subjugation", what's that? why was I trying to win over Earth, I never really cared about power, or having subjects. Did you know what I did when I actually had power? I wrote plays about myself and ate fruit. That's Loki for you. Anyway, what I meant to say, is that I am sorry my idiotic “power will solve everything” phase robbed you of your free will, for however short a time.”
Clint was even more confused now, and didn't know if he wanted to stab the guy or thank the guy. He'd wanted an apology, but without even asking? And mentioning everything so casually? Damn it, just when he thought he had put everything behind him.
“I could make you forget what you did, or how you felt in that time, if you want? Although, I imagine you probably rather I wasn't in your head anymore. Καταλαβαίνω ότι. You can still try to kill me, if you want, however much I have reformed myself, you still deserve some repayment for what I did to you with my tesseract stick.”
Clint settled for breaking his arm. Loki cried out in pain, wheezed in a weird way and lowered his eyes. It was oddly satisfying. People around them were alarmed, but with a shift of Loki's eyes they went back to what they were doing. Good. Clint let go of Loki, content. It was good enough for that time.
Loki materialised two things after that, a sling for his useless right arm and a bottle of wine in his left arm. Yes, wine sounded like a good idea in that situation. Or any other kind of alcohol.
Loki offered him the bottle.
“Παρακαλώ?”
Clint had heard that before, it was the word for excuse me, please, polite things like that. Loki was asking him to please help him open the bottle, as he couldn't with his one hand. Uncanny. Not thinking too much about it, Clint opened it and drank a good gulp of it, then passed the bottle. Loki drank.
“The wine here is sooo good. You know that the Greeks started making wine 6000 years ago? A time period that is much more my speed. They even had a god of wine.... I would like to meet him, I'm sure he was fun.”
Clint interrupted Loki's drunken speech with a question he should have asked long ago.
“Why are you here?”
Loki looked at him through those glazed eyes and drank some more wine. They got to some big street, full of bars and people dancing. Loki smiled and Clint was (disconcertingly) starting to feel comfortable.
“I am going to tell you everything, like when we were not-really-friends, all right? Feel free to judge. The thing is, Barton, that I have a hole in my memory. I don't know what I did, I don't know what happened to me, or what happened to Thor... Maybe I was used, and that is why I don't remember, maybe....who knows.”
Clint understood. Loki felt that he could have been on the wrong side of the brainwashing stick and felt afraid, and disgusted, and somehow far from himself. Clint understood that, and was glad, however mean it was, that he'd had a taste of what he had caused unto others. Maybe that was why he had been so quick to apologise and offer himself, because he understood what he'd done.
Good.
Clint took the bottle of wine and took a nice gulp, wished good night to some greek strangers. Loki continued talking in his drunken slurred way.
“I know that I will have to face up to whatever it was, but I wanted some time off, you know. I wanted a place that was old, like me. Your United States is a child country. Greece seemed different to Asgard yet familiar, what with all these gods and the good fruit. Nice hiding place.”
Clint interjected, after some companionable silence.
“I know of some of the things you did. You're not so bad now.”
Maybe now, after so many things had passed, after he fought the same people that had been his team mates, after they lost people they thought near unkillable, maybe now, in the other side of the world, drinking wine from world experts in wine, maybe he could turn the page. Heal of what he thought was through, process what he hadn't allowed himself to deal with, and start fresh. Loki seemed touched by his words.
“I am... beyond words. It means so much, coming from you. Ευχαριστώ.”
“You're welcome.”
He didn't know if it was because of the closure or because of the wine, but Clint slept wonderfully that night.
No nightmares, and the Greek sun waking him up.
“Καλημέρα, Αθήνα!”
And Athens seemed to say, in its very old, too hot and slightly messy way, “Good morning to you too, Clint.”