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.
no subject
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.