[ Yeah, yeah he understands. Clint aches for Peter, for the obvious hurt that's eating at him through this. Gwen is clearly important to Peter, as important as Natasha was, as important as Laura would be, or Cooper, or Lila. God forbid any of them arrive, Clint would probably sell himself for their freedom, anything, everything.

There's muted pain, soft understanding, written in Clint's expression when Peter looks up at him. It's a surprise to have someone spill their guts to him, but not by much. He's worked interrogation, he's worked to get victims and traumatized people to trust him and help, to spill information that lodged itself in their throats. He knows how to be calming, how to draw poison from the wound. He wasn't trying here, but that happens sometimes, the quiet support of someone listening and standing still by your side. ]

You can't blame yourself. [ Clint catches Peter's shoulder in the palm of his hand, squeezes softly. ] You did what you had to do, you couldn't have predicted what would happen. Not any more than you'd predict her showing up here.

[ Nic, at his shoulder, sneezes and hops back over to Peter's shoulders. Huffily pretending like he didn't want to. Clint smiles, a bit, and looks Peter in the eye, treating him not as a kid who lost his girlfriend, but as another agent who lost a partner. ]

She could be on the Neheda, or they could have transferred her to another crew. Nat was missing for a while after I spotted her, after all.