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'."
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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'."