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The first time Bruce Banner met Clint after the New York attack, he recognized him right away. Though the archer looked different, there was no mistaking those eyes. The last time Bruce had seen Clint, ten years ago, he’d been on the run…
XXX
“Thanks,” Bruce called up to the truck driver as he stepped down from the cab. The driver tipped his hat before driving away. Bruce turned to the gas station and sighed. It wasn’t the best place to be, but it was somewhere far away from the people hunting him. After digging around in his pocket, Bruce found that he had a couple dollars to splurge on a gas station meal. He couldn’t even make that sound appealing.
As he started toward the entrance, he noticed a hunched figure leaning against the side of the building. Their face was shrouded in shadow, but Bruce could see the red flare of a cigarette. The smell of cloves mixed with the choking scent of gasoline, perfuming the air. Bruce tried not to stare. Personally, he hated being stared at.
“Hey,” the figure spoke.
After looking around, Bruce figured out that the guy was really talking to him. “H-Hello…” he returned the greeting.
The guy laughed and stepped into the light, shoulder braced against the wall and that clove cigarette dangling from his lips. The guy—kid, really—was blond, lean, and the eyeliner around those eyes was smudged just enough to highlight them perfectly. Although, in the bright light of the gas station, Bruce couldn’t decide if they were more green or blue…snapping himself out of it, he cleared his throat. “Do you uh, need anything?” he managed to get out.
The kid smirked and shook his head. God, he couldn’t be older than eighteen. “I’m more ‘bout what you need, buddy,” he winked before raising a hand to grasp his cigarette. “If you know what I mean.”
Bruce did, even though he didn’t want to. Knowing what this kid did sent an almost physical pain through him. He’d been desperate before, had scrounged and scavenged what he could from the garbage, even fought animals for scraps, but he’d never even allowed himself to consider selling himself. Besides, who would want a twenty-eight-year-old doctor?
The kid looked confident, but Bruce could see right through it. His shoulders were too stiff, his smile too wry and tight. Bruce could recognize hypervigilance a mile away, and the way the boy’s eyes flickered up and down his body screamed anything but desire. This kid was not doing it because he wanted some extra cash. He was doing it because he needed the money.
“How old are you?” Bruce blurted.
The kid blinked in surprise. “You a cop?” he asked.
“Do I look like a cop?” he returned with a raised brow.
The kid breathed a laugh and shook his head. “If you are, you’re the best damn undercover cop I’ve ever seen. Got the shaggy hair, and bags under your eyes just like the rest’a us.”
“What’s your name?” Bruce asked. He had this…compulsion to know, and he couldn’t explain why.
Black lined eyes met his own, assessing him for a long moment. “Clint,” he answered finally. After blowing out a last lungful of smoke, he tamped out his cigarette against the garish orange wall of the building. “Who are you, handsome?” he asked.
Bruce would never admit that his cheeks may have colored a bit. He didn’t think it would be smart to give Clint his real name, considering the people who were after him…”It might be better if you don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m...sort of running from something.”
“Aren’t we all?”
Bruce wondered what Clint could be running from and was about to ask when an idea popped into his head. “Wait here for a minute,” he said before ducking into the store. He bought two hot chocolates and a sad looking wrap. After a moment of thought, he grabbed a pretzel for Clint before going back outside. The scientist was relieved when he saw the young man hadn’t moved. “Here, you look like you haven’t eaten in a while,” he offered. “Plus, I don’t like dining alone,” Bruce added with a smile.
Clint took the cup and the warm pretzel. They sat down on the curb, and before Bruce realized it, he started asking about Clint. He wanted to know why he was selling himself, what he was doing here, what led him to this life. Surprisingly, Clint answered them all, and though it felt as though he kept some things close to his chest, Bruce would tell he was being honest.
He learned that Clint used to be a circus acrobat with his brother after his parents died. He learned that Clint’s father was a mean and abusive drunk, and that, when they got older, his older brother wasn’t much better. Bruce, in turn, decided to relate his own fatherly woes. Clint smiled at him in a sad, empathetic way and put a hand on his shoulder. Despite the chill in the late night air, he felt warmth seep into his skin from the blond’s touch.
“So you know ‘bout me, and I know ‘bout you…can I know your name now?” Clint asked, licking the last remnants of pretzel salt from his thumb.
Bruce worried his lower lip and sighed. “Yes…Bruce. I’m Bruce.”
“Wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Clint grinned before standing. “Now come on.”
“Come on? Come on where?” Bruce questioned from the ground.
“There’s some bathrooms over there. Not too dirty, considerin’. I know you’ve been lookin’ at me all night.”
“I-I…” Bruce stammered. He was not going to pay for Clint. He felt…wrong, just wrong about it. As foolish as it seemed, he actually liked the kid. He liked his dry, dark humor and sarcastic wit. He liked the way he smiled. “Clint, that’s not…I don’t want to…”
But Clint simply crouched down and tugged Bruce into a long, lingering kiss. “But that’s alright, because I’ve been lookin’ back. This ain’t the job, Bruce, this is me enjoying myself.”
And how could Bruce argue with that logic?
He didn’t, and he allowed Clint to drag him into the bathrooms and kiss him like that again. When he reached down he found Clint seemingly more than willing. He pulled back one last time and searched the blond’s eyes. Huh. They looked more gray in this lighting…
“Are you absolutely sure?” Bruce asked.
Clint nodded one last time, then looked embarrassed. “Would you—never mind,” he cut himself short.
The doctor frowned and brushed a bit of hair from the young man’s forehead. “Go ahead, Clint,” he prompted gently.
“Would you…m-make love to me?” he managed to get out, looking embarrassed and flustered. His ears were turning red. Bruce thought it was adorable. “I mean, I’ve never. No one’s ever really…been nice about it, ya know? They don’t have to, but it’d be nice to feel different, like I’m actually…”
“There,” Bruce finished for him.
Clint nodded.
Bruce gently cupped his cheek and tilted Clint’s head up. When their eyes finally met, he smiled softly.
“Clint, it would be my genuine pleasure.” Then with a confident grin he didn’t feel, added. “I’ll make you forget about the rest.”
The smile the blond shot back was beatific, and he laughed again before pulling Bruce back into a kiss.
XXX
Bruce found Clint sitting on the roof later, smoking a cigarette. His legs swung through the air as he stared out at the cityscape.
“Those things will kill you, you know,” he said in greeting.
“Yeah?” Clint didn’t look over his shoulder, but he could hear the smile in his voice. “So will the job.”
Bruce laughed quietly at that before sitting down beside Clint, close enough that their legs pressed against each other. The small contact brought comfort to him. “So you still smoke them?” he nodded to the cigarette.
“Every now and then,” the archer replied. “A guilty pleasure. Smells better than any other brand.”
Several beats of silence followed before Bruce spoke again. “Never thought I’d see you again,” he admitted. “What happened to you after…after?”
Clint launched into his true background, talked about learning to shoot his bow in the circus, his mentors and brother turning on him, turning him into their own personal hitman. When he finally ran away, Clint resorted to mercenary work, but sometimes, he couldn’t stand the killing, so he’d turn to other means of earning money. To be honest, it made Bruce a little sick to think about. What sort of choice was that? Sell your body or sell your soul, your piece of mind? Eventually, about a year after he and Bruce met, Coulson found him bleeding out in an alleyway, recruited him, and gave him a fresh start.
Bruce’s story was much shorter, because he’d been on the run when they met, and continued to be on the run until Natasha came to get him. He told Clint about trying to make up for the things he’d done, and in turn, Clint told him all about wiping the red from his own ledger.
They sat in silence after that for a while before Clint finally broke it. “I still owe you a dinner.”
And Bruce couldn’t help it. It was just such a ridiculous idea to think that Clint owed him anything because Bruce bought him watery hot chocolate and a stale pretzel from the gas station. He laughed, loud and long, liked he hadn’t in years.
Clint leaned over and kissed him like he did back then.
It tasted like cloves.