Strawberrywaltz A/N: Thanks for reading! And special thanks to all who reviewed for the first chapter! You guys are amazing!

Part Two

Clint quietly listened as Banner began to talk.

"I, uh, I was close to my Mom. I wasn't so close to my Father." He very nearly choked on his own understatement. He couldn't find the words to tell Clint that his father used to beat him; he even remembered being knocked out once or twice. Bruce stared down at his glass, thinking.

"He used to get jealous when Mom paid me attention so he uh, yeah, took it out on me. Mom used to try and stop him but that just made things worse." He stopped; worried that Clint wouldn't want to know. Now that he had started, the story just seemed to want to come, dragging up memories he would rather have left buried deep.

"He managed to knock me out when I was about five, told the hospital I fell down the stairs. Mom was so distraught she didn't tell them the truth. The worst part was that he wasn't drunk when he came for me, just angry. That makes the other guy harder to deal with, it's like I've inherited his anger."

Bruce stopped before he broke down completely. He didn't think he could tell Clint about his mother's death. A pause followed as he waited, hoping that his fellow Avenger might just possibly understand.

"Daddy issues must be a requirement for super heroes." Clint muttered when Bruce's story came to a pause. When Barton was brought in on the Avengers project, he had been given files to read on Bruce's tragic accident that turned the man into a fierce rage monster. Although anything before the 'incident' hadn't been included in the file. The revelation of his abusive father was new.

It was sad, heart-breaking actually. Not only did Bruce have the 'other guy' hanging over his shoulder, but he had a crappy childhood as well. Poor guy couldn't catch a break.

Clint looked at Bruce. "I can't imagine how it'd feel if my dad smacked us around without a bottle in his hand."

With one last gulp Clint finished off his whiskey and asked the bartender for a glass of water. "My father is the reason I avoid getting drunk. Seeing him get wasted like that almost every night – how he'd just lose it on my brother, my mom and on me – it was an eye opening experience. Showed me exactly how I didn't want to end up. When he died and I stared at his body in the casket, I promised myself I'd never end up that way."

The archer glanced at the doctor again. "You are not your father. You didn't choose to be angry – you're the mildest tempered man I know. Well, most of the time. Besides, the 'other guy' did just save the world. I don't see a jerk like your father pulling something like that off."

Bruce stared at him for a moment before smiling. It wasn't often he was called mild-tempered. It was nice, being told that you weren't to blame when you spent every waking moment blaming yourself.

"Thanks. I appreciate that although the whole mild temper act isn't the easiest thing to keep up. Having to watch a sibling go through it must be even worse. I guess I'm glad Mom never had more kids or else it would have been harder. She miscarried when I was eleven because Dad beat her."

Again he had to stop himself from completely losing his grip on everything. Bruce started to regret telling Clint, all the hurt and anger came boiling up inside him and he was struggling to keep it controlled. The image of his Dad standing over his Mom, her face bloodied and wet. Sometimes he still heard her screams, her pleas for him to stop.

"It was after that when she tried to take me away with her, to get away from him. We didn't even make it out of the house before he came after us. It only took one punch. She, she fell against the table and broke her neck."

Bruce's voice seemed to disappear in a choked sob. He was trying desperately not to let Clint see what the assassin might think of as a pitiful weakness. In an effort to clear the lump in his throat he took a swig of the scotch but it just burned its route straight through his chest and past his heart.

"Put me in hospital for about a month but somehow there were no questions asked. I always thought he may have framed Mom, said she did it in a depressed craze." He glanced over at Clint to see him staring at his water.

"I'm sorry, we can lighten the subject. I uh, don't talk about this to people so it all sort of came flooding out. I apologize."

Clint's eyes dropped back down to the glass of water clutched firmly between his hands. It was a wonder how any of the Avengers made it alive this far. It also was a mystery how they hadn't turned out as bad guys themselves or clinically insane.

"Maybe it's a good thing to let it out." Clint offered lightly. "Finally get some of that weight off your chest – angst does follow you around like a dark cloud, Bruce. Coulson always told me I should open up more." He shrugged. The memory of Clint's late friend and handler was a bittersweet thing.

Coulson had been the one who convinced Clint to trust again. Now Phil was gone forever and even though Loki had delivered the killing blow Barton blamed himself. If Clint had fought harder, been smarter maybe he could have prevented the whole catastrophe from happening in the first place.

"Can't say it really makes the memories better though. It never helped me, anyway. Still, sometimes it's nice to know that someone else knows how screwed up life is. Takes some of the burden away."

"However," The archer casually shrugged a shoulder. "If you want to lighten the mood I can tell you something about my past that might cheer you up."

Barton smirked and gave the doctor a sideways glance to watch his reaction. "Every kid looks for a way to escape their childhood and live a life filled with adventure. Some even get these wild dreams of running away with the circus. Well, my brother and I actually did it. We had spent a few unpleasant years in the system after our parents died. Barney, my older brother got sick of waiting for something better to come along. He told me one day that we were broken toys that no one wanted. So, rather than waiting around for the 'perfect family' to take us home – which we knew would never happened judging by the few places we had temporarily lived – we took our fate into our own hands and ran away."

Of course Clint's experience at the circus had started good, but ended in tragedy. In order to cheer up Bruce, Barton decided to stick with reminiscing over the happier memories. "I met a lot of good people there. Traveled all around the states and performed in a silly costume in front of crowds of people, shooting arrows at impossibly hard targets. I was Hawkeye, the worlds greatest marksmen."

"I remember this one time, during our first month at the circus, one of the elephants made a break for it. Barney and I were sent to track down old Mabel and bring her back." Clint chuckled as he stared down his glass of water.

"It wasn't a hard trail to follow – Mabel destroyed everything and anything in her way. We found her rolling around in a man's cornfield, flattened the whole crop. Suzie, one of the dancers saved our asses, rode Mabel out of there while Barney and I drew the crazy farmer's gunfire."

Clint chuckled as he remembered the events in clarity. It was one of the happier ones – before Barney started to turn on him. Before the Swordsmen began his twisted version of training. Before Suzie died.

Bruce couldn't help but laugh at the thought of Clint in a costume similar to the one Steve wore, trying to entertain people. Of course the whole elephant story was a lighter version of what happened every time the other guy showed up but with less damage and a better ending. He tried to imagine Clint reasoning with the elephant, a peanut in his hand to tempt it back.

"Only seems fair I now tell you one," he said to Clint, racking his brains for something that would make the archer laugh. "When I was in India, I met this little girl; she must have been about six. She'd never seen a mobile before. I still had mine you see, not that I could use it but I turned the signal off and made it ring. She leapt a good three feet when it went off. I gave it to her; it wasn't as if I would need it. She spent hours just pressing the buttons until the battery died. Then she came to me asking if I could make her friend better since I was a doctor. It took forever to explain to her that her friend was just an inanimate object like a ball or something." It wasn't a very funny story but the memory was sweet and made him smile. Good encounters from his life in hiding weren't all that common.

Clint was pleased with himself when Bruce laughed at his story. It felt good to achieve something positive.

Quietly he listened to Bruce's story of the little girl. Clint smiled a bit at the end, but couldn't help but wonder if that was really Bruce's fondest story. If so, the archer knew he'd need to change that. The guy could use a little more 'fun' in his life.

Besides, it would be an excellent means of distraction.

"That little girl sounds like a young Tony Stark in the making. He thinks his inanimate objects are his friends too." Clint laughed lightly.

Bruce joined in his companion's laughter.

"Only because inanimate objects put up with him for longer. I can't see Tony getting freaked out by a phone ringing, though." Their conversation once more fell into silence as they simply enjoyed the company.

The bar was filling up now, the city's workmen had come in and a few were already a little bit more than tipsy. One group, all in overalls and stained vests were particularly loud. Bruce shot Clint a slightly worried look, unsure if being surrounded by drunks would trigger something.

He had studied psychology for a bit and knew that emotions could break out by being reminded of things in roundabout ways. Finishing the last of his scotch he turned to the archer. He was about to say that they should go and find somewhere quieter when someone barged into his chair, nearly knocking him off the barstool.

"Move you bastard!" the six foot slab of fleshy tattoos yelled, sending a cloud of alcohol scented spit over the doctor. Bruce fought the urge to turn around and answer, massaging his arm as he tried to be inconspicuous.

"I said move! Are you deaf or something? Get out of my fucking way!" Once more Bruce found himself being slammed against Clint's chair. The floor rose up to hit him squarely on the cheek as he toppled from the stool.

One more section to go!

Strawberrywaltz A/N: The reference to Suzie connects with my version of Clint's past which can be found in my other story Leave the Lights On the chapter three story arch part three.

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