prompt: at the very top
(with apologies/thanks/awe to Neil Gaiman)
Stark might think he knows how to fly but Clint knows how to fall. To stand on the precipice and launch himself into the void knowing there's nothing to catch him - no safety net, no harness, no genteely-spoken AI.
To fall. To know no way out. This is freedom. This is living.
But Clint never lets himself fall. Not until the day he makes a break, escapes the crowd and retreats to the top of Stark Tower.
And she's there. Waiting.
This is falling and living and dying.
And this time, he flies.