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Two weeks after Clint first kissed Hulk, an agent from SHIELD came to the mansion’s front door. When Clint leaned in the doorframe with his mask down, not letting him past, and lazy with it, the agent said he had news for Dr. Banner, so if Hawkeye would please allow him to do his job—
“JARVIS is already on it,” Clint said smoothly, and not moving. “Bruce will be down in five. What’s this all about, anyway?”
The agent looked at Clint for a moment, all trim lines and professionalism, and said, “I was to communicate directly with Dr. Banner, sir, so if you please.”
Bruce came to the front lobby. As usual, he looked like he needed a shave and was dressed rather shabbily. He looked like a grad student who’d slept in his clothes, probably over his lab bench. Clint reached over to muss Bruce’s hair up some more. Bruce just gave Clint the sideways look, before then greeting the agent from SHIELD.
Ever since hooking up with Hulk, Clint found that he could interact with Bruce in an almost friendly way on a daily basis—or friendly as according to Clint Barton. Weird how that had worked out.
The agent said, “SHIELD wishes to inform you of the news that, after study of General Ross’s blood, we believe we’re on the way to developing a cure that will eliminate the Hulk—if this is of interest to you, with your cooperation, we could continue the study to test effectiv—”
“Get the fuck off our lawn,” Clint snarled.
And slammed the door on the guy’s face.
“JARVIS, make sure that bastard gets out of here, will ya?” Clint shouted at the ceiling.
“Very good, sir,” JARVIS replied.
Bruce was looking at Clint speculatively.
“I would have said no,” he said, blandly. “You know that.”
“I know,” Clint agreed, but still angry, and seething with it.
Bruce was silent for a moment. Then he said, “You want any coffee? I could go for some coffee—decaf for me, regular for you—or I think Jan picked up some fancy sodas yesterday, or something—”
Clint followed Bruce into the kitchen.
---
It was true that they risked their lives to save humanity pretty much all the time. Clint wasn’t new at this business—as a former SHIELD agent, particularly, he was supposed to be aware of the unexpected turns that life could take. But the agent had said things like “eliminate the Hulk,” which was just a pretty way of saying murder, and Clint didn’t—he couldn’t—
His Hulk wasn’t… he wasn’t a disease to be eliminated, or cured, and Clint sat in the kitchen while Bruce made coffee in Tony’s fancy machine, and Clint had his mask in his hands. General Ross was in SHIELD custody, and Clint was thinking of everything that had led up to that, or Bruce and Hulk being disappeared by the military for a month, and he thought of the word “eliminated,” and how easily the SHIELD agent had said that, about the Hulk.
“Hey, Clint.”
Clint looked up.
Bruce was by the kitchen counter, an empty mug in his hands and an open cabinet besides, but he said, “Should I—do you want the Big Guy to come out and keep you company?”
Clint rubbed a hand over his face, once, just trying to clear his mind. “Ah, no, that’s all right. It’s your afternoon, isn’t it? Can’t keep that science waiting.”
He put his mask down on the table, and watched Bruce as he filled his coffee mug.
In the end, Clint opened a bottle of soda from the fridge—some kind of fancy glass bottle with a silver cap and antique lettering, where did Jan even get this stuff—and he got out the milk and sugar for Bruce. They sat together in the kitchen until Bruce finished his coffee, and then Bruce was back to the lab. Clint loitered for a minute more in the kitchen, before finally heading down to the training room. He’d have JARVIS set up the archery range.
---
These days, Bruce and Hulk had a loose but evenly shared schedule. On the days that the world wasn’t in mortal danger, Hulk often had the mornings to exercise, or relax, whichever he felt like. The later afternoons and evenings tended to go to Bruce, and he’d use them to do research—or to bum around being a nature-loving hippy, as Clint liked to put it. Sometimes Bruce and Hulk switched it up. Sometimes it didn’t even seem to matter, but nights were usually Hulk and Clint in the same bedroom. Once or twice a week, Bruce migrated over to Tony’s bedroom.
Clint wouldn’t have really understood that relationship, if he hadn’t seen Bruce in his lab. In the woods, he was all fishing and yoga and meditation—he just let himself go, one hundred percent. In the lab, Bruce was stream-lined expertise mixed with snark, capable of pushing pretty much anyone into line, and also of doing three things at once while barely looking away from his computer screen. It was interesting point and counterpoint. Maybe Tony and Bruce stayed up all night giggling over science, or maybe Tony was trying to pick up a tip or two on how to relax in nature before he burned himself out. Clint didn’t really know, and quite frankly he didn’t want to dwell on it too much.
Hulk didn’t really want to talk about Bruce and Tony. He just got this wane look on his face, and then would suggest they go do something else. Like eat donuts. Or beat up a couple of training robots.
---
When you lined up all the images, the fragments of lives, maybe it seemed a little weird. Or maybe Clint was treating the study of it too much like reconnaissance; maybe, maybe, maybe, but sometimes it made more sense when you cut the reels up into slides and then lined them up again.
Because Clint would see things, like, Hulk swimming in the pool.
Or Bruce meditating outside, in the shade of the trees.
Or Hulk guffawing with Clint as they played cards in the recreational room, Thor having stopped by for an evening and completely misunderstanding the rules.
Or Bruce marching Tony out of his workshop to have a tuna sandwich, at least, for Pete’s sake, and then proceed to build this monstrosity out of whole-wheat bread and fresh trimmings, the works, and just how Tony liked it.
There were all kinds of things, happening all the time, and seemingly unrelated. Clint could have lined up the images, and it was weird, the way they were supposed to fit. Because you could have followed anyone else around with a camera, and you would have known, every second, who it was, and how the one moment fed into the next. It wasn’t the same with Bruce and Hulk. There were pieces that fit that shouldn’t have looked like they would, and all sorts of things going on under the surface, never mind that’s what Clint was supposed to be trained to parse out; to have hawk’s eyes.
---
“Did you know that this is the first home Hulk ever had?” Bruce asked, once.
Clint was loitering in the lab while Bruce reorganized lab equipment. Bruce scowled when he fished out a beaker caked with something white inside and put the glassware into the sink.
“Whaddya mean?” Clint asked. He was sitting on a stool, and being lazy.
“What I said,” Bruce said, simply. “The first place with four walls and a roof that Hulk’s stayed in for any extended period of time, and with a real bed made just for his size? It was really weird, for him. He’s a little more used to it now. Honestly, Hulk was more familiar with the sleeping in the woods and caves kind of lifestyle.”
“Goddamn Ross,” Clint said.
“Hmm, yeah,” Bruce said, and took more glassware out of his cabinets for cleaning.
---
It was hard, sometimes, to read into what the big guy was thinking. Then sometimes it was nearly heartbreakingly easy.
When they’d gotten Hulk and Bruce out of military prison, they’d come back to the mansion, and Hulk had looked around the foyer with the strangest expression, nearly wistful with it, like he was trying to figure out if he really belonged.
---
Their first night together, Hulk had looked at Clint, and then looked away. It didn’t take much for Hulk to hurt someone, with hands so broad the palms alone could span Clint’s chest. They were in Hulk’s and Bruce’s bedroom, Hulk sitting at the edge of his bed while Clint stood, watching him, and Hulk said, “I’ll hurt you. This is wrong, you should go—”
Clint stopped Hulk with a kiss to the corner of Hulk’s mouth. “Hey, Jade Jaws, easy. I’ll take care of you.”
He’d practiced the lines in his head, but his voice still caught a little, getting it out. He was blushing, he knew it. Ridiculous. He’d never had this kind of trouble with women. Never. Well, not since in his teens, anyway. But it was the strangest thing, looking at Hulk’s face. Hulk looked so young. Bruce was safely into his thirties, but Clint did not know—
Clint kissed Hulk’s mouth again and tried not to think.
---
Before dinner, the same day the agent from SHIELD stopped by, Hulk came to watch Clint as he shot down a row of targets, one after another.
“Hey, lovely,” Clint called, grinning over at Hulk, and then they both watched as his arrow hit the bull’s eye, and perfect.
Hulk walked over and sat down behind Clint, and Clint lowered his bow. Then Clint turned around, neatly, and sat in Hulk’s lap. “I missed you, Jade Jaws.”
Hulk just looked at Clint, and rearranged his arms to accommodate Clint. Clint leaned back, taking comfort in the feeling of his head against Hulk’s chest, and sometimes he wished it could be the other way around. He wished he could hold Hulk and tell him everything would always be okay, he’d protect him. It was a silly thing. You looked at him, and maybe the thought would have been, what did a Hulk need protection from anyway? But there were so many things, and men who’d say all kinds of pretty words when all they really meant was that they didn’t see you as a person really, and worth fighting for, or loving.
“What do ya want for dinner, babe?” Clint asked. “I think we’re ordering out again—it’s great living in Manhattan, isn’t it?”
Hulk shrugged. “I liked the Greek stuff we got last week.”
“Sounds tasty.”
Hulk just made a rumbling noise of agreement, and they didn’t talk about SHIELD, or avenging (the problems of being an Avenger), or anything else. Sometimes Clint wondered if Hulk and Bruce had long, philosophical conversations about life and relationships in their head, unheard by anyone else. Or maybe not.
They sat there together in the long, dimly lit hall, with a row of targets neatly pierced. And Hulk seemed happy, when Clint circled Hulk’s wrist with both hands, clasping it.
He did not let go.