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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.

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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.

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?

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.

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.

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."

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?"

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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."

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'."

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