1г—4: Hawkeye:

In the dimly lit basement of a Brooklyn brownstone, Clint Barton—known to the world as —wasn't fighting aliens or super-spies. He was fighting a stubborn 1x4 plank of cedar.

"Watch," he said, handing her the tool. "Long, even strokes. Don't look at where the blade is; look at where it's going. Like leading a target."

"I’m telling you, Kate, it’s all about the grain," Clint muttered, squinting through his hearing aids at the piece of wood. "You rush the cut, you splinter the soul. Precision isn’t just for trick arrows." Hawkeye: 1Г—4

He ignored her, running a calloused thumb over the rough edge. This was the "1x4" project: a simple set of trophy racks for Kate’s growing collection of "World’s Mediocre-est Archer" awards. But for Clint, it was a rare moment of quiet. No high-stakes missions, just the smell of sawdust and the rhythmic shhh-shhh of a hand plane.

As they clamped the boards together, the silence of the basement felt heavier and warmer than the noise of the city above. They weren't just building a shelf; they were building a home, one 1x4 at a time. In the dimly lit basement of a Brooklyn

"Okay, I get it," she admitted, a thin curl of cedar landing on her boot. "It’s... grounding."

Kate Bishop leaned against a workbench covered in purple fletching and half-empty coffee cups. "Clint, it’s a shelf. We’ve been here for three hours. The Avengers have saved the planet in less time." "Long, even strokes

Kate took the plane, her movements tentative at first, then finding a groove. She felt the resistance of the wood—the way a 1x4 wasn't just a commodity from a hardware store, but a piece of something that required patience.