[Clint scratches the back of his neck, tilting his head to the side. At least the feeling of awkwardness is mutual here. When he speaks, his voice is halting and unsure.]

Uh, no...I'm just surprised to see you out here, that's all. [A pause.] I'm, um, shooting arrows?

[Barton, you absolute moron. You sound like you haven't spoken to a human being in years. Clint gestures vaguely towards the arrows he's currently fiddling with. Despite how deeply they seem to be embedded into the trunk, he doesn't seem to have any trouble pulling them out--though, he does wince slightly as his muscles twinge.

It takes more than a few moments to sift through the thoughts in his brain. Wading through everything seems like...well, wading through a fog. Clint has always been plagued with these thoughts, but for some reason, they've been harder to ignore recently. But if Clint Barton's good for anything, it's putting on a face and pretending that everything's perfectly fine.

He attempts to make small-talk again.]

It helps me focus. Archery, I mean. You ever try it?

[That's...marginally better. For now.]