for greenisnteasy

[beenunmade]

Being back home was akin to being in Hell.

The friends he had made in Arkham had been some of the closest one's he had ever had in his entire life. As a sniper, Clint had always been closed off from the world -- an arm's length away from being close to anyone. The situation in Arkham had been something that threw him completely off kilter. Bonds were made, he loved, he lost. He experienced the life S.H.I.E.L.D agents typically did not experience when they had decided to become lifers for the cause. When he had woken up in his standard issued room -- a familiar yet sinking feeling happened upon him in the silence of it all. It wasn't difficult for Clint to find his sea legs once again. He didn't move into the Avengers tower when...normal!Stark had called him up with the invite, regardless of the fact that Natasha had done so. Thor hadn't been there. Thor didn't count. He'd taken one of his close friends back to Asgard to do whatever horrors they can do to someone who betrayed them such as Loki had. Things had changed for Clint after life in Arkham, what anger and hate he carried was gone for the things it should have accounted for but otherwise he had pushed his allegiances aside.

He was no longer Fury's soldier. No longer his sniper despite the fact he had been going on mission-after-mission for the man since his return. Anything to get away from the helicarrier for just a little bit longer. It honestly took him a little more than three months before he had gone AWOL during a mission in Romania. After taking down the mark, of course, it filled the hole inside him just a little bit longer before he turned off communications with the handler who had been in charge of him on this certain mission. Kenneth Winston, an unassuming man. He didn't hold the same sort of statue as Phil had. Wasn't as rigid as Hill had been. Wasn't as amusing as Sitwell. And not as watchful as any of them combined. Or even remotely close to them. Clint abandoned everything, taking up his bow, quiver, and a backpack he had prepared while they had been on the trip before ditching his new personal shadow. It hadn't been even that difficult. Clint already had the jump on him to begin with as he had separated the moment he had confirmed the hit before slipping back into the shadows.

That was about three weeks prior to his arrival in Peru. By boat, of all things. He had wired all the money he had from his bank accounts to a remote account in Egypt. Cashed out during his stay there before once again disappearing into the wind. S.H.I.E.L.D. had trained him to be the best, the stealthiest. He wasn't going to disappoint them just because he had made a run for it.

The last he had heard from Banner was that he had ditched the tower after the cold realization that Tony didn't remember anything from their trip to Arkham sunk in. Tony was with Pepper, head over heels for Pepper in fact. Clint had heard it when he had bought a magazine and offered some kid a buck to read it to him in disjointed English. Another buck for the attempt before patting the kid's shoulder and heading off in whatever direction he felt like going. Holding up a picture of Banner and asking if anyone had seen that man would have brought Bruce unwanted attention. If he was going to find him -- he was going to find him by pure luck or amazing tracking skills. He knew the doc's M.O. When Bruce had first gone in the wind after the Blonsky incident, it had been up to Clint to keep an eye on him for a couple months until they had established a good connection. Day in and day out. Clint was forced to watch from awkward perches, staring down at the unassuming man as he moved through the shadows, moving through the back streets children's parents would warn them about. He kept to himself, lived as he could and made do with what he had.

Barton had come back from the detail envious of him in some twisted way. Of course, it had all been shrugged off. Being invisible in a place where a dirty blonde man with blue eyes stuck out like a sore thumb was nearly impossible, but Clint had made it work. Clint had been at this for weeks now and the search was coming up empty. It was...aggravating to say the least. But getting into bad shit was something Clint had been an expert at back in the day. All it took was paying off a couple people before getting into a small circle of people who wanted to capture Dr. Bruce Banner to legitimately find out what made Hulk tick and replicate it was simple. They didn't need to trust him. All he needed to show them was an old photograph he had taken of the Hulk, claiming he had been after him before he took out his team and they were eating out of his hand. "The American" they called him, it was enough to get them to buy that he could possibly just get Banner to come to them. Or at least find out where he was with the resources they had as opposed to the ones he did. Leading them to Bruce was non-negotiable. They'd be dead before they even got to see the flash of his purple shirt.

In a perfect scenario, for the criminals, Bruce would have been home. They would have discovered that Barton was not who he claimed to be and they would have run away with their prize. In reality, Clint was already up in his perch. A rooftop that seemed just a hair away from the building Banner had found himself living in. The idiots had broken into his small apartment, ransacking the place after they noticed that he hadn't been there. Their leader, Henri, had made himself at home on Bruce's bed. Lounging. Clint was supposed to be the eyes -- keeping a look out for the good doctor so they would be ready for him. It was easier if people knew they fuck what they were doing. Clint's beyond perfect eyesight had caught Bruce three blocks down, heading in their direction.

It didn't give him a lot of work-room. But it had been enough. The first to be down for the count was the get-away driver parked right below Clint. Clint had just been kind enough to call the authorities about a stolen vehicle. It honestly took longer than he would have hoped for, but results were still the same. The next was the drop. The archer leapt between the buildings before sliding down the wall, grabbing onto the window ledge before pulling himself into the vacate room next to them. There had been a purpose to it.

Clint moved, slipping into the hallway before pushing Banner's door in carefully. Three men versus...well, someone they couldn't wish to beat. The first was easy. Clint had slid one of his knives through the bottom of his jaw, kicking him back into the second guy. Henri's reaction time was slower than expected. Yelling at him in the language he had no fucking idea what they were saying to him. He disarmed the second guy by grabbing his wrist, twisting it behind him with a painful snap before slamming the man's head into the wall. Once. Twice. Henri had made the move to attack Clint from behind before Clint kicked his leg around, slamming into his "boss's" throat and sending him reeling into the fridge. Damn pity too. Clint knocked the second guy to his knees before snapping his neck efficiently. Getting his head knocked by a Bruce's computer was not a good thing. A haze automatically lifted over Clint's world but still he didn't drop to the ground. He just spun around and tackled the other man. Henri had some advantages over Clint. More built, taller. But he didn't have knowledge on his side. He didn't have the experience Clint had nor did he have the speed. Clint knocked him into the adjacent wall before delivering a punch to his gut, knocking the wind right out of him.

Clint used the man as leverage, wrapping his arms around him before kicking off the wall and yanking him hard to the ground. Henri decided for the wimp's choice, going for the gun one of the men had dropped. Shots fired. Clint stilled. His arm hurt like a motherfucker as he continued to lay there before he was rolled onto his back by Henri, muttering something under his breath before Clint lunged right back into action. His legs moving up and locking the man's head in by his thighs before twisting his body hard and Henri slacked against him before he kicked him off with a boot to the face. Clint laid there for a moment, listening to his own heavy breathing. Well...he was out of shape.

Comments

[greenisnteasy]

Bruce simply just didn't belong in New York anymore. Maybe he never belonged in the first place -- no, no, he definitely didn't. If Arkham had never happened, things between himself and Tony would have worked out this way regardless. Tony has Pepper, and Bruce has no business being somewhere where he's recognized. It isn't that he thinks he should drop out of society completely. These places he picks to relocate, they're not exactly the least populated areas he can find. They're teeming with life, almost rotting with it in some areas, blooming with it in others, and isn't that the divide he straddles? Just a little too much life, just enough to be destructive.

No, Bruce just doesn't want to matter to anyone. It's simpler that way. Cleaner. The freedom that comes from running away is more than just shaking off the government, or dodging assholish soldiers looking for a grudge match. It's about anonymity; it's about walking into a room and if there are eyes on him, it's because he's the American doctor, or that naked man who'd come begging -- but even then, that's easily enough forgotten. He'll be their doctor; he'll come into their homes and treat their wounds and not ask for much in return -- money more often than not, but food too, or clothes, or sometimes a place to stay, just for the night.

The tower, with Tony, is the picture of extravagance. Of excess. Of comfort and luxury. Bruce is never comfortable there. Walking down the street in his shoes that are just a little too small, his shirt just a little too big, his pants just a little too scratchy, his stomach just a little too empty -- this is better. This is far more comfortable. This is Bruce living at rock bottom, and where is there to go from here but up? It's the only way a pessimist can find any optimism.

So sure, Bruce is content in a way out here. He's cut ties; he's doing good in the world; he's scraping by and no one looks at him like a time bomb waiting to go off. No one looks at him like Tony did either, or Betty. But Betty's gone and Tony, his Tony? Well, who knows. He's content on his own; he prefers not mattering, because then it's easier for people not to matter to him. It's when they matter that it hurts.

He thinks about them all every day, in no particular order, some days one more than the other. Phil and Clint, Loki and Kenzi -- god... They hurt. The dreams he hates are the one twisted in green, but lately the more he dreams of some rundown university barely keeping itself together, he almost wishes for the warped ghosts of the Hulk's memories.

He's letting himself feel the pain of their loss -- part of his heightened understanding of his relationship with pain, you need to let a little in if you want to get over it, but really Bruce is a masochist, a self-punisher -- as he heads for home, more distracted than he should be, but not distracted enough not to notice the sounds of a fight in the home he's set up here. He almost turns around and just runs, leaving behind whoever decided to break in, but then he hesitates because...

He isn't home. Who are they fighting?

He creeps in as quietly as he can, shrinking in on himself and making himself as invisible as possible. He smells the blood but doesn't register it at first, not until he sees it, and the crumpled bodies, and there, two moving --

One moving.

Clint Barton just killed a man by twisting his head around, using his thighs, and Bruce's apartment is full of dead people, and Bruce isn't even sure if he's supposed to be next.

But he doesn't think so. He hates SHIELD with all his available passion -- which is a lot -- but Clint? Clint still feels like an ally. And Bruce isn't an optimist but he thinks these people are dead because Clint was keeping them away from Bruce.

"Clint?" he asks, uncertain, taking a half-step closer before he stops. "Are there any more?"

[beenunmade]

What...no Hi Clint!?

He hadn't really expected much of a reaction from Banner in concern for his well-being. Clint didn't appreciate it. What he appreciated was being able to protect those he cared about with his own two hands (or thighs in this case) as he continued to lay on the floor as his body slowly started to recognize the agony it was in. The bullet wound in his arm wasn't as bad as anything he hadn't dealt with before in his life. There were more pressing things at hand, however. Back in New York, it didn't take a genius to know that of all the Avengers that had gone to Arkham. Only he and Banner hand remembered the visit. The look in Bruce's eyes before he left whenever he saw Tony and Pepper together said it all. But Clint was not the comforting type -- it wasn't in his genetics. It took a while to build up approaching someone in a normal setting about what was going on but the moment he had manned up to talk to Banner, he had left. That hadn't been such a surprise either as he stared at the ceiling for a moment. Feeling the blood rush to his head.

He hadn't even realized someone was talking to him yet. It took a moment for him to realize someone was in the room with him. Another moment of crazy paranoia that it might be their driver who had somehow gotten away from the police and was going to put a bullet in his head. Another moment of crazy paranoia was that it had been S.H.I.E.L.D, who never took kindly to rogue agents. Especially ones who had just broken out of mind-control from a crazed god and barely passed his psych evaluations. Clint's gun was aimed at the doctor's head reflexively; the fear in his eyes was something he couldn't hold back. He had killed three men because of him. He would have killed even more for him if it came down to it. "Fuck...doc, do I need to get you a bell?" Clint dropped his weapon onto the floor next to him before sitting up, kicking Henri off of his legs and away from him before sliding back to lean against the bed. He shook his head for a moment, unsure if that was the answer to Bruce's question or just trying to pull himself back together.

"Nah, nah man. This is it." Should he have allowed them to get this close to Bruce? No. It was stupid to let it get this far. Clint was mentally punishing himself. He could have easily done away with them four blocks from here, with little attention and far less messy. "I woulda sent a post-card...but I figured jus' coming over was way better. You miss me?" He knew the answer already. No. Clint's appearance typically meant S.H.I.E.L.D. He knew Bruce wouldn't be privy to the knowledge that he had broken any and all ties with his life back in New York. Even if his clothing was a blatant testament to that. His S.H.I.E.L.D regs had been abandoned in Serbia during his globe trotting. He wasn't one of theirs anymore. Not when everything there just reminded him of what he missed about Arkham. Or rather the residents.

[greenisnteasy]

"Me a bell? Look who's talking."

Bruce is far too cautious and far too mistrusting to think that what Clint's wearing might be any indication of his current loyalties. He's clearly been here "keeping interested parties off his back," which could be SHIELD's bag as much as anything else, and he'll believe in the conspiracy of the man until he has proof to the contrary. He and Clint never had had a conversation about Arkham; he'd pulled away, and honestly, Bruce had too. He feels Phil's loss every day, and Clint had been a painful reminder of that. Is a painful reminder of that. Of what they'd shared, not exactly a romance, but definitely a deeper kind of friendship than Bruce had ever been allowed to have before.

And maybe, just maybe, Bruce had been afraid to ask. If he asked then he would know, one way or the other, and one was so much less bearable than the other.

The dead bodies are creeping him out. Bruce has killed enough; enough people have died thanks to him, and now there are more in his living room, but the murderer is Clint and he'd been protecting Bruce -- on SHIELD's orders or not -- and that's infinitely valuable to him. Unspeakably valuable. He'd come to help SHIELD at least in part because they'd helped him stay safe.

"A postcard might've been less effort. And nicer to my floor." But come on. This place is a shithole. It's just a shithole with a roof and some cheap, salvaged technology that... appears to have doubled as a cheap, salvaged weapon.

He glances over the bodies one more time before he comes to kneel at Clint's side. He has his doctor bag in hand already, but he needs water to clean the wound.

"How could I not have missed your dramatic entrances?" It's on the tip of his tongue to mention the ceiling vents, and his eyes meet Clint's for a second before he chickens out. He lightly touches his arm instead, gently holding it so he can inspect it.

"How badly are you hurt?"

[beenunmade]

"I can't really help that 'm stealthy by nature." His lips quirked into a smirk as he looked around the room. He could get rid of the bodies, no problem. Keep Bruce off of everyone's radars -- he had been doing what he could to keep him off S.H.I.E.L.D's for as log as possible. For as much as possible but he knew it was only a matter of time. They tended to get up in everyone's business -- wanted or not. Clint wasn't exactly looking forward to when they would start hunting him down, even if he was sure they had been. It was really...just a matter of time.

He wanted to cherish the moment he had sitting there in Bruce's presence. A quiet reminder of the life they lived, if only as their friends would say -- in their dreams. Clint didn't dare try to show up the deeper running scars of Phil's life and death in a matter of moments. Not when Bruce was there. Not when anyone was there. They were his to carry alone. Bruce had enough of his plate, and the others would have never understood the "sudden" intimacy of the loss for Clint. Phil had become what his world revolved around in Arkham. The first couple of weeks, waking up alone in bed was something that hurt much more than any bullet or stab wound had in his entire life. Clint's eyes didn't stray too far from Bruce. He had seen enough dead bodies in his life, left behind more than enough to make him a little bit dangerous. His fame hadn't quite hit the heights of Black Widow, but he had a 100% success rate on always getting the mark. It was nothing to be prideful over.

Clint glanced around when Bruce mentioned his floor, brow arching up. Really? "S.H.I.E.L.D could track a postcard. Either to you or to me...can't risk it." He couldn't risk them finding Bruce and he didn't really want to go back to prison. Especially not a S.H.I.E.L.D-sanctioned prison. "It adds character to the room?" He offered up, smiling a little before Bruce came to kneel at his side. Inspecting the bullet wound. He wanted to say it. He wanted to mention Arkham, even though every time he had to their other teammates the puzzled expressions on their faces crushed his heart. It wasn't fair.

"They are usually ones for the history books. I'll start catalogin' them for you...with pictures 'n everything." He winced when he touched his arm a bit, eyes trailing down to his hand before back to his face. "T'is but a flesh wound, sir." Not really. But Clint would live. He had always been made of tougher stuff.

[greenisnteasy]

"I was kidding about the postcard." Really, Clint? Now he's almost sure this isn't his Clint after all; isn't he well-versed in Bruce's sass by now? It's Bruce's true second language.

He can't be sure, but when Clint's eyes meet Bruce's, and there's a second where they're hovering near, Bruce's hand on his arm... There's a heat there, isn't there, but it's less the heat and more the spark of a connection, of recognition. It's there for a moment before Bruce shies away from it; finding himself free of it, it's easier to doubt that he saw anything there. If Clint were his Clint, wouldn't he have said something? Not that Bruce did...

He turns to his bag and catches sight of a body lying nearby. Sure, they were all here to do something terrible to him no doubt, but Bruce isn't a murderer. No, but that's Clint's job, isn't it? Being reminded of his job sets Bruce's jaw, and he comes back more focused, dabbing carefully at Clint's arm.

"What's the risk, anyway? Is this how SHIELD's letting me know they're still watching and 'helping?'" He hasn't caught on that Clint isn't with SHIELD anymore.

[beenunmade]

Clint looked at him with a dazed expression on his face. Oh...okay.

He would have legitimately sent him a postcard, whether he was being sassy or not. The humor of what he had said didn't really register in his mind right now. He had missed the man's humor...he had missed the man himself. All of him, Clint had missed their interactions which seemed distant the moment they woke up back in New York. "Oh right...yeah, I know. 'm jus'...shot." And the adrenaline was still pumping through his system like a drug. The moment of 'gotta protect Banner' repeating in his head like a prayer was gone now. He had succeeded, right? He knew he had succeeded because Bruce was there, his hand on his arm and he told himself not to become hopeful that it was truly his Bruce.

Bruce was just a doctor and was helping out a guy who'd been shot. That was it. He was always forming a story to give to people after he paid them off so they wouldn't point fingers at Banner for living in the apartment. It was purely reflexive when he shifted more comfortably, leaning his forehead against Bruce's shoulder and allowing his breathing to grow evenly as he felt the calmness he had missed back in S.H.I.E.L.D. If Bruce pushed him away, he would just say it was the blood loss. Another fantastic lie.

His brow quirked for a brief moment before lifting his head up. "I left S.H.I.E.L.D. I was on a mission in Romania and after it was over I ditched my handler, went lookin' for you. You're a hard man to find, doc. It was easier back..." Back in Arkham, finding Bruce had been a lot easier. Simple. Clint felt like all he had to do back there was just reach out his hand and he'd either find Bruce..Phil...any of the others who he had become close too. It was difficult for an agent to allow themselves to become so close because the inevitable always happened. They were always taken away. "Finding people after the big guy was easier than finding you. These guys were the closest on the trail...I neutralized the threat." Clint's expression steeled for a moment, looking over at one of the corpses. He didn't feel remorse. A remorse he typically felt even after killing some of the world's worst criminals under the orders of S.H.I.E.L.D because he had chosen this route and he was proud of the choice he made.

[greenisnteasy]

Bruce freezes at the head on his shoulder. It might be misconstrued that he doesn't want Clint there, but the opposite is true; dear God, how the opposite is true, and he hesitates, holding his breath, until Clint picks his head up again. His eyes are still wide, questioning, but he quickly blinks it away. He's never asked Clint; he's just assumed, with everyone else, with Phil gone...

But then had he ever considered that there might be something salvageable between them, even if he wasn't from Arkham?

"You quit SHIELD?" He's frowning, eyebrow furrowed, but he's just trying to puzzle this out. "You quit SHIELD and came looking for me." Seems like it would've been easier to stay in SHIELD, find him the official way, but there's something about this that isn't right, and Bruce is hesitant because the alternative is to cling to it. At the moment he'd just be grasping at straws. He swallows thickly and nods. Clint's plan made sense; maybe that's how SHIELD was always so good at finding him in the first place.

Clint's arm isn't so bad, and Bruce starts patching it up, his eyes low, focused on is work.

"That sounds like an awful lot of trouble you went through, Agent Barton." The sass is mild and subdued, and though he hasn't asked it, it's clear he's dying to know why. Why did Clint quit, why did he come here?

[beenunmade]

There was a slight expectancy that he would stop what he was doing and leave. That he didn't remember what had happened or he wasn't the person that Clint thought (hoped) he had been. He had hoped for months. Hope wasn't something SHIELD agents used in their vocabulary but Clint used it every time he told himself that it would just be better to turn back and keep on going. It wasn't by much that he had gotten there -- people traveled with not a clue about what they wanted to do with their lives. But those people and Clint Barton weren't to be lumped together. He traveled because he held out the hope that there was someone still out there that he trusted more than Natasha, more than SHIELD, more than anything in his life. Not the individual they had buried, but the one who had disappeared into the window and took everything else Clint knew in life. He assumed this was just a defense mechanism. The possibility of Bruce not knowing Arkham was still very much in the air seeing as how Clint had gone without even asking him in the first place if he ever knew what Arkham was.

Horrible recon on his part. But he didn't have much of a choice when Bruce had left. If he had tracked Bruce down using SHIELD, they would be able to keep tabs on him. But as far as Clint was concerned, he was continuously setting up ways to block them from finding where he was and Fury was already suspecting other individuals for sabotage. All he really had to do was turn to Clint and he would know.

"Honestly...if I was smart I woulda stayed with SHIELD. It woulda been easier to track you, but someone kept fuckin' with their tracking system whenever they got even remotely close." Clint wonders who that could have been. Clint sucked in a breath, hiding the smirk on his face. For about five seconds before showing it anyway. He was typically proud of his work -- he wouldn't allow for someone to take the credit for protecting someone he lov--protecting someone. Clint stared at him for a moment, watching him. He had asked everyone but Bruce. And everyone just stared at him like an idiot he figured he might as well just ask away and get ready to cut ties.

"Do you know about Arkham, freckles?" The nickname should've said it all really. Clint only called him that when he had been flirting with him back at that...place. All that was going through Clint's mind was pleasesayyespleasesayyes.

[greenisnteasy]

He stops in the act of patching Clint up when he essentially says he's been keeping SHIELD off Bruce's tail. His eyes flick up, a smile and a cautious thank you in them, even if his face is grim because he's still questioning, still unsure. The sad thing is, no matter how much Bruce wants to trust Clint, he's back in this world now where it's far more dangerous to trust than it was in Akrham. In Arkham he'd had a support system, and that had been good, up to a point, up until he systematically lost them. That was the danger of letting people in there; here, he could let people in, but they're far more likely to turn against him of their own volition. That one hurts worse.

So when Clint asks him, and Bruce's eyes light up for a second, he quickly clamps down on that hope. He draws away from Clint, physically pulling in on himself, his position defensive and poised to run or attack because he doesn't trust this. Is this a ploy from SHIELD? Did they figure it out? Are they trying to pull him in for psych evals? He doesn't want to be evaluated on this.

"What do you know about Arkham?" he counters, caution and suspicion in his eyes.

The world isn't nice enough to give him Clint. It just isn't.

[beenunmade]

The saddest thing in the world was happening right now.

Clint had essentially nothing left and was clinging to the hope that Bruce knew. That Bruce remembered everything thing they had went through...everything they had done. There was a point in his life in Arkham that Clint honestly believed his heart was too small to endure so much love that he was getting. From Phil. From Kenzi. From Bruce. He clung onto that at night when he was traveling in some of the worst conditions he had ever allowed himself to endure. This time it hadn't been because of a nation. An initiative or ideal. It had just been because of a man that he loved almost as much as he loved Phil Coulson. A friend. One of the better friends he had ever had in the world -- even compared to his partner. They talked. They laughed. They flirted. Clint saw nothing wrong with that because it was a level of friendship that he never questioned in his life because he never thought he would have it in his life. Then he did...and then it was gone.

It was inevitable for Bruce to draw in on himself. It was a defense mechanism. Clint did everything not to just cling on the man and tell him don't leave him. Plead for him not to run away because he was just too tired to chase after him anymore. "Kenzi...my best friend. I--I miss her so much. I miss her more than I missed Tasha when she died...the way she died." Clint could still remember it. He wanted to pull Bruce back towards him. "'n Phil...'n us. I know how much I loved him...how much I felt 'bout you. No one remembers back in New York. No one. I have no one, Bruce."

[greenisnteasy]

All that? The suspicion and the uncertainty? God, it all just melts away. He hadn't gone into details about any of that. Why? Why bother? What would have been the point? It was all done and over, and he didn't particularly want to share that loss with anyone else. How could he have explained it to anyone? How could they have understood? They couldn't have, so he kept it private, kept it close, kept it his. He keeps his pain inside anyway, at least until it explodes, until it finds a weak spot and bursts out of him.

When he mentions Kenzi, the walls in his eyes come down; at Natasha he cracks further. It isn't until he mentions Phil -- the way he says and us and to Bruce, he means all three, the three of them together and the messy thing they'd settled into -- that's when he loses it. He wavers forward for a second, shock written all over his face.

"Clint?" Because this can't be real. He can't have Clint here; he'd had no one.

But Clint remembers.

Bruce grabs Clint and pulls him in, his eyes still wide and disbelieving, but god, it's so good to hold him again, so familiar, and his eyes close finally as he lets himself accept the comfort he finds in Clint's arms. His Clint's arms.

"Tell me something else. So I can know you're real. Tell me... Tell me what happened that night, with the truth or dare game, do you remember? What did you have that was mine?"

[beenunmade]

He hadn't ran yet. It was a start a very good, beautiful start. He knew he would have had to offer evidence of the fact. The things he knew from Arkham, the people they met, the moments they shared. It wasn't something that would leave Clint anytime soon. All he honestly wanted was someone to share this with. He never wanted to leave Arkham because he knew he would have lost it all. His friendships. His lovers. He knew he would lose them all and for months he had. It wasn't fair. The reason SHIELD had strict dealings with relationships was because they got in the way, they were usually frowned upon with their top tier assets because feelings...caused people to pause. They broke down, they faltered and they went rogue. Well if he hadn't been proving them right so far he didn't know what he was doing but clearly he was making all the wrong choices, regardless of how right it felt.

Clint's arms came around Bruce when he was pulled in, breathing a sigh of relief as he pressed his cheek against his shoulder. A sigh leaving him as he held him closer to him. "Your purple shirt that I had in the vent." He grinned, leaning up and pressing his lips against Bruce's moment. A laugh bubbling out of him easily. "How could I forget that, freckles? The look on your face was hilarious. 'n you were a teenager still, right? Your hair was so curly...all I wanted to do the entire time was pinch your cheeks." He may or may not have been serious about that. He was more than likely serious about it.

[greenisnteasy]

The kiss -- the kiss confirms everything. He almost doesn't need the answer then because that's Clint. Right there. He can tell. The details only make everything sweeter, and his smile turns from relief to something quirkier. Thank God, honestly, because the flood of emotions was almost painful. He'd rather joke and tease, at least until this becomes something he can handle without breaking.

But if he breaks? Clint's here.

"I don't recommend that as a way to woo me." Not that Clint has to worry about that. Bruce -- well, he loves Clint, doesn't he? It's a different kind of love than Tony, or Betty, but it's love nonetheless, and it was a comfort then. Clint was there for him then, and here he is now, in Bruce's home... where he's killed a number of men...

They'll deal with the bodies later. All that matters is that his Clint is here. That one kiss hadn't been enough, and Bruce cups the back of Clint's neck to pull him in for another, more lasting, more desperate, more comparable to everything they've been through and everything they've lost.

[beenunmade]

He was hoping that the kiss would help. It was a long shot in his mind, but it was purely to make him feel better about this entire scenario. There was a comfort in it that he didn't think existed anymore in this place. The relief that washed over him was something that he needed, especially after the trip he had made and the connections he had severed to get to where he was at right now. He understood the risks, yes. He understood what it meant and who he would lose. But Bruce was worth all that. He was worth more than just shutting it all down and moving on. Especially when he knew there was still a chance for this before he had the chance to talk to Bruce before he left New York for South America.

The laughter continued. Clint shrugged a bit, offering the other man a smile in return for his humor. "I'd only pinch your cheeks if you were underage, doc. Since that's not the case. You're in the clear." He would be around to pick up the pieces if Bruce decided to break. Clint felt as though he had lost more. Seeing Tony...happy with Pepper. Clint knew that if Phil had been there; there was at least some chance. He knew what he was getting himself into back in Arkham with Phil because Phil was gone back home and the opportunity that presented itself was too valuable and too rare to pass up. He didn't regret anything about it. He just regretted that it ended just as it was beginning.

To be honest, Clint had forgotten about the dead bodies. They didn't really matter all too much as Bruce pulled him in for another kiss, the former SHIELD agent clung to him. Because it had been the most logical thing to do at this point. He'd spent weeks wanting to be near someone who understood and wouldn't see him like he was acting like a crazy person. Clint shifted more against him, moving his lips against Bruce's until he was pretty sure he had forgotten to breath. But it didn't matter that much. Not right now.

[greenisnteasy]

Bruce, unfortunately, can't forget to breathe. He has Loki's trinket, but that magic could run out if he isn't careful, so even now he has to watch himself, to pull back a little on how excited he is to see Clint... But oh God, is he excited, and he kisses him hard, seeking comfort, seeking to seal them both back together. His breath comes out steadily against Clint's cheek, but then that must be familiar too, the way Bruce always kisses, with the hint of tipping over into something more, but always with one foot on the ground.

He lets the kiss break finally though, but sets their foreheads together, fingers stroking the back of Clint's neck, sliding up into his hair; his other hand cups his jaw, thumbing over it gently.

He'd known that losing Phil again would be a blow for Clint, whether he was his Clint or not, and Bruce knew living through that had been hell for himself; he can't imagine Clint, so used to having Phil nearby, took it any better.

"I didn't know. I'm sorry. I should've asked, but I was afraid you'd look at me like..." Like Tony had. He inhales and shakes his head, his nose bumping Clint's. "I couldn't have handled that."

[beenunmade]

There was honestly nothing Clint would have changed about this encounter -- only that it was worth every moment of leaving behind everything that he knew and everything that defined him just to see Bruce again. There was really know regrets in this situation as he shut his eyes. It was where Bruce and Clint differed. When it came to Phil, when it came to Bruce...there was not a single part of him that wasn't given over to them in those moments. Be it...just a hug. To something far more deeper or something as simple as a hug. Clint's hands didn't roam as they typically would have. His fists clenched onto the back of Bruce's shirt as if he was afraid that he would disappear and this was all just his imagination. Because he had dreams like this. Be it Bruce or Phil. There was always a moment of comfort before it was taken away from him once again.

He didn't move when Bruce broke the kiss, breathing in the small space between them as he still clung to him. Really...he thought he would have been used to being alone. To being let down, but it just hurt all the more when he thought he lost the love of his life. When he lost his best friend. He could have told Bruce anything without the fear of him looking at him like he was an idiot. He didn't want that to go away again.

"Hey, no...I saw...I know." Clint wouldn't have been able to deal if Phil had given him that look. Clint didn't blame Bruce at all as he smiled a bit. "C'mon, you have to admit. Me showin' up here out of the blue makes life more interestin', right?" Clint offered up, his smile brightening up a bit. In truth, Clint was terrified. After everything that had happened, he would have been lucky to see the sun again if, or when, SHIELD caught up with them. It showed in his eyes.

[greenisnteasy]

Bruce is ready to believe Clint until he opens his eyes and sees it. He's been hunted for too long not to recognize the look in Clint's eyes. He saw it every day in the mirror -- well, every day he had a mirror -- when he first left. In the time since it's faded, hardened to something resigned, but it flashes up again when he's caught and cornered. Faced with the idea that maybe Clint's going to be ripped away from him -- which, yeah, Bruce has the shittiest luck and that possibility is so on the table -- that hunted look rears up again. But he's been on the run for too long. He doesn't just look hunted anymore; he looks angry about it.

His fingers dig into Clint's shirt at his back, holding him tighter.

"And nothing's going to separate us again." Hear that, anyone who's listening? This is a double dog dare to try to take Clint away from him. In this situation? Yeah. Bruce would bring the other guy out and smash their shit up if they tried, and he doesn't feel the slightest bit guilty for it.

Maybe he is hardening, changing.

But, well, he's clinging to Clint in a roomful of dead bodies that Clint put there. He doesn't think Clint would judge him overly much. That rather fierce and declarative statement out of the way, Bruce tries to bring in some of his sass, to get away from the scary angry side of him.

"You always make my life interesting, but it might have been the multiple murder that really sealed the deal this time."

[beenunmade]

Clint could live with being hunted down. It wasn't preferable. But it was something that he could live with regardless of what was going on because he didn't have anything to go back too. The Avengers had never been his scene. Even with the time he spent in Arkham as their co-leader, he didn't feel as though he would truly be a part of the team. Not really. A normal fella surrounded by titans, it was easy to see where he got the idea and the doubts of his own ability in that. He didn't belong there. He belonged with SHIELD and when he had gotten home he had all intents and purposes to exercise his ability to be a badass. But his heart wasn't in it anymore. His mind was too far gone on where he had been and what he had that it didn't measure up to this life anymore. He had what other people dream of. He had someone who loved him and someone he trusted. He knew how this story ended and he didn't want to tell Bruce the truth. He knew that this was just a moment and it was not going to last.

He laughed, regardless. Pressing his lips against Bruce's in a chaste kiss before leaning back a bit. "Sounds like a dare...SHIELD doesn't respond well to dares. They take it as a personal challenge." He knows. He spent over a decade of responding to the dares of people who had said similar things. As apprehensive as he was about it. He quietly dared them to take Bruce away if only to put an arrow through their eye socket. Or worse.

There might have been a wink. "I was considering a fern for a housewarmin' gift, but these make better for conversational pieces." Clint didn't want to move. But he knew if they didn't...someone would stumble upon this and it wouldn't be the same response he got from Bruce as he nudged him a little, allowing his hands to slide over him before shifting to sit up a bit more. "We should get movin'."

[greenisnteasy]

Bruce has been to Africa, but only briefly, mainly to get from one place to another while being slightly more difficult to track. He's never stayed, but that's exactly why he and Clint are there. Bruce feels a little like he's showing Clint the world, and he's aware that wherever they go, it isn't like Clint's going to have something like doctoring to keep him busy and keep their pockets full. He'd wanted to go somewhere interesting for Clint, somewhere Clint could stay busy, but they might have the chance to hide, too, in a large population. Egypt -- there's bound to be so much to do in Egypt, museums to go or tourists to pickpocket (oops) or childhood curiosities to explore.

And maybe Bruce is charmed by the idea of taking Clint somewhere he could wander and learn and rediscover things that he'd thought were cool as a kid. Everyone has a mummy phase, right? There are pyramids here and a kind of romance and the political unrest they need to keep them undercover. Okay, so Bruce's enchanting ideas are mixed with utilitarianism, but still.

Probably the people he's been treating know where to find the white doctor whose Arabic is surprisingly good and his bedside manner gentle, and Bruce has never liked that element of this job -- far too easy to find him -- but he does his best to go back home following a twisting route that might throw off or at least bore whoever's following him. He has a little more money and some things to make dinner, the bag hanging from his hand as he taps out the appropriate signal on their door before opening it up and heading inside.

"Honey, I'm home," he calls, more cheerfully than someone who has to negotiate new ways to knock on the door practically every day so the person inside can know they aren't about to be flushed out of hiding.

[beenunmade]

He remembered Africa. He assumed Africa would remember him a little. He did put a bullet through a couple of terrorists skulls that made their homes there. Others were just bad people who hadn't been well-known to the world but they still needed to go down. Back when he had a mission and people backing him up on that mission. Also more money than he had now. He didn't make his anxiety known as he had before. Regardless of how many missions he had gone through in Egypt and how many people he could possibly point out as enemies of SHIELD or allies of SHIELD. It was easy enough to move around them. Easy enough to disappear out of sight when they looked his way. Globe trotting with Bruce was better than any alternative he could come up with when it came to the months and months of psych evals and the like. People here didn't look at him like he had shot down a helicarrier, killing the people they loved. And he didn't have to be reminded daily of what could have been as a guy in a suit haunted the halls of SHIELD when he had been there.

Slipping back into pick-pocketing had been relatively easy. Especially in the large crowds that Clint typically fell into when he decided to wander. When Bruce was off helping people and getting money for them. Clint, as unschooled as he was, was doing his best to learn the language so he didn't stick out like a sore thumb. It was easier by listening, practicing. Also when he decided to cheat at poker with some people that lived so far away from their home and were easy to lose in a crowd. They kept on allowing him to come back. He kept on winning. If he wasn't stealing or cheating at poker, Clint was usually found doing handiwork for pots. Blankets. He got a table and two chairs for fixing a roof. Of course he had to fix the table and chairs, but it was better than taking the money from people who were struggling. Another family down the street (when he didn't feel like venturing to play poker) would teach him the language while he worked around the house.

Of course he felt embarrassed to tell Bruce that. It was better to leave it to his imagination what Clint did all day. Clint had spent the entire day today playing poker after exploring the sights. Head always down. It was easy to mix with the crowds if he pretended to be a tourist. During poker he won a chicken...he wasn't sure what to do with it. But he figured the next time he went over to the people he usually helped around the house for language lessons would undoubtedly know what to do with it. Or Bruce would. When he had gotten home, it was a round of checking the place for bugs. Checking the outside for people who might be watching the place. Before starting to work out. He'd set up a bar in the corner where he could do pull-ups with ease that it was never a question of if he would get his energy out if he needed to hide out there for a couple days.

He drew in another breath as he hung upside from the bar, pulling himself up again before hanging upside down and listened to someone knock on the door as the chicken he'd gotten a hold of pecked the spot below him. A smile tugging at Clint's lips when Bruce stepped in. "Welcome home, freckles." He said (in Arabic...little proud of himself right there) from where he was hanging, "got me anything good?" Clint chuckled before moving to moving himself out of his position on the bar. The collection of wallets and small coin purses he'd collected during the day may or may not have been sitting on table he'd gotten. A part of him would never feel bad about it. He grabbed a small towel, dabbing his face with it before lifting up his own wallet. "Yanno, someone tried to take my wallet today. Fuckin' pickpockets. No sense of right or wrong. I gotta say. Also...won a chicken. I think that deserves me trying to get someone to smuggle me some Oreos into the country or somethin'."

[greenisnteasy]

"Good evening," he says back in Arabic, his smile turning warm and cooked.

Coming home to Clint was never boring. He actually laughs at the chicken, and as for the wallets, well, he'd asked Clint to at least go for the people who looked like they could stand to lose the money. It isn't that Bruce is so anti-stealing, not really; he's definitely not anti-hustling. That one he's especially fond of because it's like trolling, and at the end you get a lot of money for it too.

"Not as good as a chicken." He sets his small bag of groceries on the table and steps in close to Clint; he doesn't care if he's sweaty from the workout. Clint's picking up Arabic and he brought home a chicken for god knows what reason and he's here. Really it's the last one that's the most important; the other two make Bruce slide an arm around him and give him a brief, tight hug. He likes to hug Clint to remind himself that he's here, that this is real.

"Which wallet did they try to steal? Good thing you have so many backups." He steps back again to tilt his head at the chicken. "What do you want to name her?"

She's more useful for eggs than one meager meal.

[beenunmade]

The only individuals Clint took from were fat tourists that thought he was a tour guide, or they just believed he was another tourist. It was actually easier pickings than wandering through the crowds in the circus. The debit/credit cards meant very little. He didn't want to leave a trail that could come back to him. It was typically the cash he was after. He usually ended up discarding everything else. A part of him felt in awe when he flipped through big fat wallets that held an entire person's life in there. Pictures of their family. Pets. He felt as though he was looking into someone else's world but when he observed them -- the arguments they had. Listened to the crap they had to say about someone back home. Clint felt no sympathy. Life for them was a cake walk considering the life that he had. Even after ditching SHIELD to have a happier sort of life with Bruce. Even if most people would say the place they lived in with the conditions they had to deal with was a far cry from happy.

Clint was happy.

The archer wrinkled his nose a bit when Bruce crowded him, not because he didn't want to be crowded. He wanted to check out what Bruce had gotten them. "The chicken's purely for me to have someone 'round when you're off doctoring. I woulda gotten a dog, but those are picked up usually right as they're put on the street. This old lady invited me over to eat something that was potentially dog. 'm scarred for life." He chuckled, giving Bruce a quick peck on the cheek before allowing his line of sight to follow Bruce's back to the chicken, folding his arms in front of his chest. "Oh...already named her. Margarita Louisa Ana-Maria Santana Barton-Banner. It was either than or Budweiser. Margarita seemed more fittin'." He tossed his head back with a laugh, there was no way he didn't have a good chuckle over that when he came up with it in the first place. Clint allowed himself to move, looking through the bag of groceries Bruce had set down.

"My actual wallet. Nearly broke the guy's arm...you think there'd be a sort of honor amongst thieves. Even in different countries."

[greenisnteasy]

"I wouldn't think thieves would worry too much about borders."

Bruce is happy too. Surprisingly so. The good thing about being back here is that his expectation level for happiness is far lower; Arkham had given him a lot of things, almost more than it had taken away, while here he's pretty used to expecting the bare minimum of getting what he needs or wants. Clint is so much more than the bare minimum, and that peck on the cheek just proves it with how happy it makes him. Trying not to smile too much, he gives Clint his space to instead kneel down to inspect Margarita Louisa Ana-Maria Santana Barton-Banner.

"I like that name. It's catchy. Really rolls off the tongue." He's smiling though as he watches Margarita peck at the floor and ruffle her wings. "Wait, so you didn't break the guy's arm?" He grins up at Clint now. "I don't think I know you anymore."

[greenisnteasy]

Bruce's heart leaps into his throat immediately. Clint doesn't look concerned, but that doesn't really mean anything at all; for all Bruce knows he could be hiding some intense and life-threatening knife wound to the back when he casually strolls in and asks what's for dinner. Clint's calm does nothing to quell Bruce's alarm at the extremely ambiguous statement, but he stands up without a rush, and he forces his hands into his pockets, instead of clutching them in front of him.

"Oh yeah? Was it a friendly ghost, right hooks aside? Or should we look up the Ghostbusters?"

The idea that Clint ran into someone he knew is not good, very not good. They might have to pack up and leave now, which is always a vulnerable situation, and where would they go? It's easier to run solo; running with Clint, even though Clint's no stranger to this, is harder because it matters more, now. He's always afraid of being captured, but seeing Clint captured would be far worse.

[beenunmade]

He immediately senses that there might have been a better way to say all of that. He didn't want Bruce to be alarmed or...for them to leave. Not right away. Natasha had given him all the information he would need to do what needed to be done. Clint wasn't entirely sure mentioning it to Bruce was exactly a good idea. He was still waiting for the other foot to drop where Bruce decided he was too much of a liability to have around and lose him in the crowd one of these days. It was going to happen because it always happened eventually. Clint knew the expression on his face reinforced the fact that he hadn't been threatened by the person who had come to visit him before reaching under the table and pulling out all the evidence he himself needed to be convinced. Along with some other stuff, the location and other business that Clint figured he would need to handle while Bruce just...stayed out of harm's way.

"Nicest ghost in the entire world, she put Casper to shame." He winked with a smirk tugging on his lips. "She brought me a present 'n then promised to get SHIELD out of Egypt as quickly as she could. I think we're in the clear, Tasha wouldn't doublecross us. Not to SHIELD." To any of the Avengers, maybe. But he didn't think they were looking for him as much as they would be looking for Bruce. He slid the manila folder across the table, brow arching as he looked from the folder to Bruce than back to the folder again.

"She owed me a going away present before I left." Clint didn't believe it would be difficult to pick up and leave as much as Bruce did. When it came to whether or not they got caught. Clint always figured he was more of an affordable loss than Bruce would ever be. He'd prove himself a distraction anytime. Every time they left the apartment together he was always paranoid and always looking at ways that he could distract someone long enough to give Bruce the opportunity to run away. He wasn't just going to tell Bruce about his ever-changing contingency plans. He didn't think it inspired too much confidence in anyone.

[greenisnteasy]

Natasha. Oh. Is he supposed to be relieved? It's hard to say -- he and Natasha have an odd relationship, and after he came back from Arkham, Bruce hadn't exactly been looking to repair any long-standing damage between them; it hadn't seemed all that imperative. He doubts she's looking out for Bruce so much as she's looking out for Clint, and that's okay; God knows he needs it. Bruce is frankly always afraid of the day that Clint will just disappear on him like he did to Phil. Bruce knows what that need might come from, but god, he doesn't want to be alone.

"Well, that was kind of her. I'll have to send her a fruit basket one of these days." He'll have to do a lot more than that, honestly, and he's still thinking about that when he pulls the file over and opens it. He tugs his glasses out of his pocket and starts to read... There are pictures, and he rifles through them, and he turns until he can lean against the table.

"What is this, Clint? Is he -- is he alive? Is that what this is?"

And if he's alive -- then what?

[beenunmade]

If Natasha wasn't looking out for Bruce, Clint would even more.

All he had in this world was the doctor. He had pretty much given up everything that made him...him. If he had formally resigned from SHIELD, he would have just gone back to prison so the loop around that made it easier for him to handle. Clint was just glad he didn't have much of anything to begin with. No civilian friends. He had lived on the helicarrier since he had first been recruited. He had absolutely zero social life compared to what Bruce had before his little incident that made him extra ordinary. When Clint had initially read his file, he was somewhat jealous of the guy. Then he felt a little bad for him. Bruce lost normalcy. He would have felt bad for anyone who had it once and it was snatched away from them. He never told Bruce that.

He thought it would have been too much salt on an old wound. He leaned back in the chair, kicking his feet up on the table as he watched Bruce look through the file. "She prefers strawberries 'n vodka if you wanna butter her up for anythin'. It's the simple pleasures in life for 'Tasha." Clint grinned as he watched him, folding his arms in front of his chest and nodding. "Apparently, Fury is still the most epic liar in the universe. I thought Loki was bad...but patchy still takes the cake. He was transported to one of SHIELD's medical facilities in the middle of nowhere."

Natasha had already scooped out the joint before bringing her findings to Clint. Apparently, she didn't believe it until she saw it with her own eyes. Even then, she didn't want to tell Clint and get his hopes up over someone who could possibly be dead as Clint reached into his jacket, pulling out his handgun. He made a show of checking the clip before flipping the safety off. "Well, I dunno 'bout you. But 've always found breakin' into SHIELD facilities sort of a brisk exercise."

[greenisnteasy]

He watches Clint with wide eyes, and then his eyes fall on the gun and stay there for a long moment before they drift back to the file. Phil. Whether or not he's his Phil -- their -- Phil hardly matters. Tony had hurt, but at least Tony had been alive, at least Tony's happy. Phil is alive and locked away somewhere, and if he doesn't remember Akrham, who cares? What difference does it make? Bruce and Clint could have him again, in whatever way they can figure out.

So is that it then? Do they go rescue him? Bruce has a brief moment of doubt. But only a brief one.

His eyes are hard when he lifts them again.

"Tell me what you need me to do. Or what you need him to do."

Bruce has broken in places before! And he knows how to be quiet; he gets a thrill from the danger besides. But he's not stupid; he knows he's most valuable here as the Hulk, and he's more than willing to offer him up if it means getting Phil back.

[beenunmade]

Clint wasn't actually going to ask Bruce to go. Maybe go with him to the general area Phil was being kept. But a part of him wanted to protect the other man. Clint put away the gun he had in his hand, already mentally packing up everything he would need to go with him. Bruce or otherwise. If someone ever said that he never came prepared, they should be shot as he dropped his feet down, eyes turning up to Bruce and his gaze softening up a bit. Clint didn't know if Bruce thought he was going to drop everything he had with...whatever the fuck they had going on. But Clint automatically would always go to Bruce/Phil/Clint in his mind if anyone asked him who he loved.

They had been happy once. He didn't exactly want to come out and tell Bruce that he knew if Phil didn't remember Arkham, he would still have the feelings he carried for Clint. Phil had told him time and time again that he wanted to be with Clint way before Arkham. But it was Bruce that would have been naturally slighted if that ever happened. Clint was wishing it didn't. He was hoping it didn't.

"I...are you okay with gettin' involved with that?" Clint didn't want to ask for Jade Jaws if Bruce didn't want to do it. He was too afraid of what might happen in the aftermath. Surely there would be casualties. Clint was okay with putting people down. He didn't really know about Bruce.

[greenisnteasy]

No, Bruce knows that if Phil doesn't remember Arkham, he'll still want Clint. He knows that was a pre-Arkham thing for them that just finally came to pass there, and no, he really doesn't want to think about how he'll feel if they find a Phil who will embrace Clint like a... lover... but not Bruce. Isn't that what they were, what he and Clint are, even if it's strange to use that word? Bruce knows he would do anything for Clint, just like he's willing to do anything now to get Phil back, even if he isn't his Phil. The upside to that is that maybe he can just woo Phil back.

"Yeah," he says, nodding, and then he firms up his jaw. "Yes." The thing is, he does kind of trust the other guy a little more now. After what happened in Arkham, maybe, but in New York, too. There were casualties, but the other guy apparently kept his head on straight, fought the good fight. Bruce does feel conflicted about going after SHIELD agents unprovoked, but maybe he can keep the violence down. All he wants is Phil. The rest he just isn't as concerned about.

"Whatever you need, Clint. I mean it. We're -- we need him. The three of us... We go together. Even if he doesn't remember, I think that's still true. So let's do this. Let's get him back."

[beenunmade]

The smile that tugged on Clint's lips spoke volumes if he was honest with himself.

The prospect of getting Phil back filled him with a giddy feeling, regardless if he remembered Arkham or not. But Clint wouldn't let that get to him in the way of just pushing Bruce aside just because Phil had been there. They all shared a deeper bond now. It was a certain level of difficulty to have Clint forget something as profound as what they had together. Bruce was a closer friend because of it. Phil was more open because of it. And Clint? Clint was just happy with being involved with the two of them. Back in Arkham, Clint relied heavily on the support system that he had built that being able to have Bruce and Phil to lean back against kept him stable, happy, most importantly -- they kept him sane. When Phil was gone and he hadn't thought to ask Bruce, the one Avenger who he had grown closest too in Arkham whether or not he remembered. Clint had nothing and no one. He'd always been a loner before, but after everything. After being able to shed that skin and act like a human being for once. It was a lot that was taken away from him.

He figured it was a lot that was taken away from Bruce too. Clint had an irrational anger towards Tony whenever he saw him with Pepper. Whenever he remembered the cruel words that twisted out of the man, his hero's, mouth when it came to him that he didn't think he could work with him. Regardless of how dumbfounded Natasha seemed to be that the hero worship had disappeared in the course of one night (to her). But several months for Clint. Clint truly didn't want to focus on himself as much as he wanted to focus on Bruce. On Phil when they got him back.

There were not many people in the world that got that level of devotion from Clint when he wasn't ordered to take someone out, but rather did it on his own accord. Clint rose to his feet, grinning still as he pulled Bruce in for a chaste kiss. "Damn right we do, freckles." He chuckled a bit. "He'll remember. I know he'll remember. You two have a bond that transcends space and time and creepy alternate dimensions. And he loves you." Clint knew Phil would never forget that before moving to pick up Margarita, holding the chicken in his hands. "When do you wanna move out?"