There is a hat hanging from Tony's door.
Bruce notices it at first and does a double take. He remembers his college days. It was never really his style, of course. He preferred the tried and tested method of just not having constant, rampant sex with strangers. His roommates, unfortunately, were less considerate, and there were several occasions when he only just avoided walking on his best friend in a compromising position by the grace of a well-placed hat.
After the accident, he couch-hopped for a while. That had been an experience. First, he'd stayed with one of his college friends he hadn't seen in years. Since college, however, his friend had apparently come to terms with his sexuality and was making up for lost time. The nights Bruce could bear to drag himself back to that apartment had been spent with a pair of noise cancelling headphones, a good book and a lot of willpower. After he'd hulked out in the living room, he'd moved to a friend of Betty's. That had gone brilliantly until he'd fallen down the stairs, suffered a panic attack and blacked out, coming to in a field in Guatemala.
He looks at the hat hanging tellingly from the doorknob. It's definitely Tony's. It's a ridiculous black fedora that only Tony would wear, and only Tony could pull off.
He shudders. He doesn't want to think about what's going on behind the door, so he doesn't. He briefly wonders who Tony's persuaded to come home with him – he knows it's not Pepper; the last time he saw her she was throwing crockery at Tony's head – but only for a few seconds before he closes that window of his imagination for good, thank you very much.
He walks a few steps down the hallway before bumping into Clint and Natasha.
"You look as though you've seen a ghost," observes Natasha.
"It's worse than that," shudders Bruce. "I've seen a hat."
Clint narrows his eyes.
"Are you afraid of hats?" he asks. "Because I've got to say, that's some weird shit, and you spend half your life as a green monster of fury."
Bruce shoves him.
"I'm not afraid of hats," he says. "I'm afraid of what it stands for."
"What does it stand for?" Clint asks. Natasha rolls her eyes.
"I'm dating a twelve year old," she sighs. Clint looks confused for all of two seconds before the realisation hits and he shudders.
"Oh. Oh, dear God," he says. "Isn't that Tony's door?"
"Yep," confirms Bruce. "Wonder who he's got back there?"
"I do not want to know," says Natasha.
"I don't, either!" says Bruce.
"Nor me," Clint agrees.
There's a few seconds of silence. Bruce shifts his weight from his left foot to his right. Natasha inspects a chip in her nail polish. Clint picks at a callus on his right hand.
"Let's listen in," says Natasha.
"OK," agrees Clint.
"I'm glad you suggested it and not me," says Bruce.
They creep back down the hall towards the door and, standing in a neat row of three, press their ears to the wood.
"I can't hear anything," says Bruce, after a few seconds.
"Are the doors soundproof or something?" asks Clint. Bruce shrugs.
"I think one of them doubles up as a coffee machine," he answers in a whisper. "But I don't know about soundproof."
"Friends!" booms Thor, and the three of them promptly heartily soil themselves.
"Jesus Christ in a handbasket," mutters Bruce, rubbing his chest. His pulse has quickened, but not to dangerous levels, thank God. Living with Thor is like living with a ticking time bomb. His stealthy brand of loudness is a constant reminder of Bruce's tentative predicament.
"We're meant to be quiet!" Clint hisses.
"Shhh," says Natasha.
Thor furrows his brow.
"Why are you listening outside friend Tony's door?" he asks, not making any attempt to lower the level of his voice. Natasha sighs and wordlessly points at the hat. Thor starts laughing.
"I see," he says. "He is partaking in a secretive act of copulation!"
"How come the big guy got that and you didn't?" Bruce asks Clint. Clint shrugs.
"Who do you think is in there?" Thor asks. Natasha sighs dramatically.
"Shhh!" she hisses, not even slightly quietly.
"No idea," answers Bruce.
"Probably a prostitute. Or Nick Fury," replies Clint.
"It is not Nick Fury," shudders Bruce. "Are you trying to make me ill?"
"Where is friend Steve?" questions Thor.
Natasha steps back from the door and looks at Clint. Clint looks at Bruce. Bruce looks at Thor. Thor looks at the hat.
"No," says Bruce.
"It isn't," says Clint.
"No way," says Natasha.
"I do not believe it," booms Thor.
"Don't believe what?" asks Tony, jovially. The four of them spin round. Tony is approaching them from the other end of the corridor, a definite swing in his step. It's immediately obvious that they've been found out. Bruce turns bright red. Frankly, it's a miracle he's not turning green.
"Oh, I've been looking for this everywhere," says Tony. He takes the hat off the doorknob and places it artfully on his head at an intentionally jaunty angle. Bruce stares. Tony winks at him. "See you guys later!" he says, turning away from them and carrying on down the hallway, turning left at the end and away from the group.
"Well," says Clint, blushing furiously.
"Yeah," says Bruce.
"That was," says Natasha.
"I agree," says Thor.
"Later," says Bruce, scratching his neck.
"Yeah," agrees Clint.
"OK," says Natasha.
The meaningless drip of embarrassed syllables dries up as the four of them part and go their separate ways.
It's a good thing that they do. If they'd stayed a minute longer, they would have seen Tony silently tiptoe back down the corridor, hat in hand, and slip back into his bedroom. It's also a good thing that the doors in Stark Towers are, in fact, soundproof. A very good thing indeed.