The next morning when Bruce came into the lab, the cot was neatly made and the trash underneath it had been cleared out. Not that he was complaining, part of him knew that Clint was going to do it anyways. They had only known each other on passing glances and not counting yesterday, never had an actual conversation except from a softly chimed greeting or farewell. Counting the little interaction they ever had, it was hard to even call them acquaintances. Not exactly strangers, but not exactly friends.
Either way, Bruce had one less thing to worry over as he started stacking his scattered papers together. Everything in the Tower was digital, he had no real use for all the papers except for printing them out so he could take them along(and pray they survive). Some he had decided weren't that important or he had memorized them already so he just left them and hoped Tony got around to cleaning the place. Now, he wasn't being a douche bag by throwing a mess everywhere, he had just gotten so involved with research and forgot what time his plane was leaving and well...ended up scurrying out the door with three seconds to spare. Looking at the place now, he was glad Tony hadn't come down here or he wouldn't have let him back in.
Whatever Clint found so comforting about a paper-filled wonderland, he'd probably never know. Bruce was pretty sure they had some kind of unspoken discussion about the disheveled archer never coming back since he had moved back into the turf. There was only three people living in the Tower now; Tony, having run away from Malibu for some reason he wouldn't speak of, Clint, who moved in officially last month for some reason and now Bruce, just for a month. While Tony wouldn't say anything about his own disturbed appearance-not yet at least, give it two days and he'll be playing therapist again-he wouldn't stop about all the things he speculated was going on with Clint since the archer was distant, to put it nicely, the first time they all met. Not that Bruce could blame him. Having someone in your head, controlling your actions, leaving you with a mess to wipe up, it was tough. Tougher than tough, it was brutal.
Having successfully cleaned up the entire lab and stacked five piles of paper next to his printer for re-use all in less than the time span of Dark Side of the Moon by Pink Floyd, Bruce sat down and intended to use the remaining eighteen hours of his day plotting through SHIELD files looking for the answer to why hundreds of south Indians were suffering radiation poisoning. Had to government, no two ways about it, and thanks to Tony, he could see who, what, when, where, and why the hell why. Everything was set out, he had a bottle of water, some strawberries from what he bought yesterday and the whole day dedicated to listening to a band he had been physically craving and getting the hell out of New York with fresh information. Instead, as he luck would always have it, a certain blond archer dropped from the vent onto the cot in a fashion a little too similar to last night. Only thing, was instead of going straight to sleep or even giving another startled look, his face dropped like Bruce had run over his dog or stepped on his expensive shoes. Utter annoyance, a little bit of dread and a dash of disgust. A look Bruce had come to associate with showing up to birthday parties in his other life. Or parties period. Or showing up anywhere. Existing, really.
"Oh." Was all Clint gruffed out, sitting down on the bed and starting to unlace his boots. He did look noticeably exhausted, and dirty. Parts of his face were wiped of grime so the Band-Aids would stick better but that didn't help all the filth in his head. An uneasy feeling settled Bruce's stomach as he nodded awkwardly, pretending to be completely engrossed in his reading. "Shoulda guessed from the music." He mumbled again and Bruce saw him fiddle with his hearing aids out of the corner of his eye. The ex-fugitive scientist cleared his throat softly, trying to dispel that tightness in his chest and sour feeling in his stomach as he pulled on a kind smile.
"I can leave if you want me to." Bruce said, always surprising himself with the way he could fake being so pleasant. It was a little unnerving for some reason. Clint looked up at him before shaking his head, unlacing his boot a little faster before looking up at him again, this time with his own smile as he pulled off the boot and suddenly Bruce got the vibe that they were moms about to passive aggressively bitch in the middle of a PTA meeting. Probably the way his smile was tight and some how the fact he was getting bare foot seemed so...dominating of the space.
"Nah, you can stay. I'm jus' gonna take a little nap." The archer assured, starting to work on the other boot remarkably faster than he did the first. "'Sides, it's your place anyways." Bruce couldn't help but snort. 'Kind of weird that you're sleeping at my place on a second date' he wanted to say but that was a little weird. Clint might not get it. Of course, when Bruce realized Clint was staring up at him with his hands stilled, face shocked but humored, he realized that he had in fact said it and Clint had hopefully gotten it. After a tense second of silence, Clint let out half wheezed laugh before shaking his head, returning to working on his boot.
Sometimes when he couldn't go to sleep, Bruce would make a list of them most embarrassing things he's ever experienced in life. This easily replaced the current number three, walking in on Jennifer naked as teenagers, and if the rest of the week proved uneventful, just might find itself at the top. It wasn't until he had muttered that little quip that he realized Clint was very attractive. The first time they met, there was no denying he was a handsome guy but suddenly, he was really freakin' hot.
"You're a funny guy, Doc." Clint chuckled, pulling off his other boot with a wide grin before standing up and stretching his arms over his head, groaning and humming contently. Switching to another file to look like he was busy, Bruce was determined to keep on track and pray his visitor laid down for the nap he said he was going to take. If jokes were what appeased him, Bruce was fresh out and only stocked with anxiety. "I don't think we've actually ever met for proper-" He squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't think we've been properly introduced." Clint said more carefully, walking over with his still gloved hand stretched out. "Clint Barton."
"Bruce Banner." He gave him a smile that faltered a little when he took Clint's ridiculously strong hand. It was a firm grip, like the kind politicians give but under it was real power, like a football player's handshake. Wait, why the hell was he comparing handshakes?
"Don't you mean Doctor Bruce Banner?" Clint smirked, arching a brow as he put his hands in his pockets. Bruce chuckled, lightly shaking his head as he looked back to the stark pad.
"I'm just Bruce today." He said, and if it didn't sound like the stupidest thing he ever said. Bruce focused himself on the cha-ching sound of Money starting to play, hoping Clint would be contented with that and go to sleep.
"Oh, hey, I love this song." Clint smiled to himself, looking up towards the ceiling speakers as his hand hand mindlessly escaping its pocket to pick up one of the strawberries. "Mind if I have one?" He asked, a little quickly, trying to show he had manners and some decent raising.
"Not at all, help yourself." Bruce nodded, glancing up at him for only a second and re-reading the same damn line fifteen times but each time it just seemed more and more alien. The archer pulled off the leaves, leaning back against his table and rolling them up in his fingers as he chewed a little thoughtfully. He rolled and unrolled the leaves about five times before just grinding them up and putting the remains in his pockets.
"I'll tell ya what, Florida has the best strawberries." Clint remarked, sounding a little distant before looking to Bruce. "I mean, these are good," He assured, lifting a hand and Bruce couldn't help but smile at the thought that Clint might have imagined he was insulting him somehow. "But Florida's are jus'...wow." He waved his hands in emphasis. "Need to see if Stark can get us some Florida strawberries." He said before picking up another one and doing the same he did with the first, fiddling with the leaves while he ate.
"That sounds nice. I think all the ones from the grocery store are from California." Bruce shrugged softly. "Some Florida ones would be really nice." He flipped through a few more files, doing his best to look unphased and dedicated to his work. Clint nodded before yawning widely and popping his neck, going back to the cot and collapsing in on it.
"I'll get ya some." He said, wrapping up in the blanket and taking his hearing aids out. "Night, Doc." Clint called and Bruce gave him a little wave in return before he rolled over. After the pressing feeling on his chest left and Bruce had settled down his nerves, he finally started to get some real work done and keeping Money on repeat.