"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.