An almost bitter laugh, something in her hurting, she huffs out a breath and then lets herself flop back, giving up on holding herself up with arms that are now burning. A damn good fight, and she'd thank him for it there wasn't something much heavier fighting to get out from her chest. The thought of lying down on the floor of this elevator, as though she isn't already doing something she finds so much more distasteful, is a line too far. So she leaves her head resting against his stomach. She doesn't ask, she just uses him to make herself a little more comfortable. They're to that point, aren't they? Just in case they're not, she bends her arm up and rests the back of her hand against his chest where she'll be able to feel the muscles move if he tries to go for her, with just enough lead time to get away.

"Of course I do. I used to be you." If not for Clint, she might still be him, or she might be something so much worse. "That's why I know..." That he can do this? Does she really know a him well enough to know that he can? That it gets better? Well, it can. "There is more for people like us, but you have to be willing to risk for it." All he has to do is believe it. That's all he needs to take the first step. Which sounds easier if you don't know what it's like to be there, how far there is to fall. She gets that. She'd love to stop talking, to stop caring, but that's not in the cards today.