It's easy to tail someone, to track them down like nothing more than another mark, another mission. Clint's lived like that for decades, sharpening and honing his skills to a fine point. The thing is, if Clint really wanted to, he could disappear and track Steve down all without the other guy noticing. He's silent as a cat, careful, careful.

But Clint doesn't care about masking his tracking here. Doesn't bother aggravating the mess of his knee any further than he already has, not now, not yet. In case he has to escape later, he'd prefer if it was on a slightly more healed leg than not. So really, thanks for being a relatively easy mark, Steve. Clint can't say exactly why he follows Steve, except that he's going more than restless here in their base, and the constant watching over is driving him crazy. It was nice to see Steve again, even if some horror clawed up Clint's throat at the sight of him so small and fragile. If the Capitol could take the Serum from Steve's veins, then what else could they do?

Clint's never been so grateful that all his skills were through his own hard work rather than some power.

That little glare is so strange though. Steve's features haven't changed, his face a little hollower maybe, but it's a far fiercer look than expected from such a tiny body. Clint's mouth curves imperceptibly with a crooked smile, fights the laughter bubbling up in his throat. His head tilts, brow raised at the order.

"Why should I?" And yeah okay, he's just being an asshole now. But really, Clint never took all that well to orders that went against what he thought was right. It's a problem, always has been.