( Here it is: the question he’s been asking himself for weeks. He’s not good at this. Wastebasket after wastebasket stuffed full of torn and crumpled letters addressed ‘Jess,’ are proof.
He’s no Captain America. Nobody gives a speech like Cap. He could recite his shopping list and Clint would follow him to Hell. And right now?He’d prefer Hell. )
Jeez, I… You meant… you still mean —
— a lot to me, Jess. You do. I think.
But I can’t —
— y’know, it takes a guy like me a while
to gain the right amount a’ perspective on things…
Still don’t know if I got it. But I do know…
this, whatever this thing is between us —I don’t want us fighting anymore.
( There is was, that itch that pricked
in every finger with the intention to make heads roll.
Not exactly with enough force to completely rip it off,
however, you know us spiders. We hold grudges. )
a —— lot? ( Take a moment to digest that. He really just said “a lot”. )
Perspective? I’m not a book, Clint.
And I don’t know what this is anymore than you do,
but at least I know how to treat someone, or at least
have a hella'va good idea. But you? —-
I’m not even sure you know how to be a friend.
