Clint is trying to behave himself, he is, but the questions he's being asked are inane well past the point of stupidity. This is the last time -- the only time -- Stark will talk him into doing any sort of press. He's half listening to Rogers fumble through an answer to his favorite thing about the modern era, and reminded of the remake -- BBC, not Hollywood -- of Sherlock Holmes.
I'm a private detective, I don't want a public image.
Tasha shifts in her chair, her heel connecting with his shin and he realizes he's slumped a bit. The bored student in class and he straightens up. Which is a mistake, because the interviewer turns to him with a bright, false smile.
"So, Hawkeye. You're a superhero with no super powers. If you could choose one, what would it be?"
He doesn't have the control over his face Tasha does, so he's sure something of his incredulity slips into view before he reins it in. And then has to fight down his first response -- what makes you think I don't -- and his second -- to point at Stark and note he doesn't exactly have 'powers', either.
"Well," he says, slow and loose rather than clipped and even; buying himself another moment to think. Tasha's impassive mask can't hide the amused glitter in her eyes and he knows Bruce is watching this at home and laughing his ass off. "I wouldn't want to predict the future. Invisibility would have its bonuses, but I don't need it. I wouldn't want to be able to read any of this lot's minds."
He pauses for the polite laughter of the host; Stark, at least, looks honestly amused. Rogers looks like he can't decide if he should be offended or not and he'll bet any viewers of this trainwreck think Tasha's watching him with polite interest.
"Though," he adds, giving his best impression of considering, "mind-reading could make combat communications easier."
He shakes his head, decisively. "Nah. I'm good just as I am, thanks. No superpowers for me."