Steve sat in silence. His normally chipper mood soured by the guilt that he, and Natasha, held over him. He had realised as soon as the words had escaped his mouth that they were the wrong thing to say but he had been upset that the assassin hadn't confided in them. They had been working together for almost a year and Clint still refused to talk to them. Steve knew that he was competent on the field, never once had he missed a shot, and a valuable member of the team but he hadn't bothered trying to connect on a personal level with any of them. Even Natasha, after a considerable amount of coaxing, had joined in with movie nights and the 'family dinner' that they had once a week. Steve sighed, he needed to talk to the archer - that much was obvious – but at that particular moment he couldn't find the words.
He stood and stretched, 2pm already, he mused, and decided to wash the large stack of dishes that had gathered over at the sink. It would have been easier to put them in the dishwasher but he didn't really know how it worked, and anyway, the repetitive motion calmed him. He clunked the mugs and plates into the sink and gave a slight nod as Bruce strode past. It wasn't often that he looked so decisive and Steve didn't want to upset another person today.
Bruce made his way to the archer's room. He made sure his footsteps were loud and when he thumped the door he felt it sway slightly at the impact. He didn't want to startle Clint and end up with an arrow through his eye, the big guy certainly wouldn't like that either. He banged on the door again and heard a string of expletives from inside, or what he presumed were expletives as they had slowly turned into a multitude of different languages. There was some thumping and a loud crash before Clint's face finally appeared at the door.
"Wha'?" the archer said, rubbing at his ear, "I'm alrea'y leavin', jus' lemme pack." He turned back around to continue shoving clothes into a duffel bag but left the door open. Bruce was surprised at the amount of stuff Barton actually had, although on closer inspection he realised that it was mainly weaponry or armour, but stepped in any way, carefully trying not to tread on anything.
"Clint, I," he stopped realising that with his back to him the archer wasn't going to respond. He wondered if it was intentional. Moving closer to him Bruce put a tentative hand out on to the other man's shoulder. It was still fresh in his mind what had happened that morning and he didn't fare his chances any better, especially not with the amount of lethal objects here but the muscles were quick to relax after momentarily flexing. He turned around staring at Banner. The doctor realised half a second later that the intense stare was probably so that he could read his lips. He began talking at a slightly slower speed than normal, trying to be accommodating.
"Clint, I'm sorry about Cap, what he said was completely out of order, but he knows he shouldn't have, and he's feeling pretty guilty already." Barton began to turn away, "Look, I get it; you don't want people to know. Come on, you've got to trust us to trust you. We're teammates; we need to know these things, so that we can help one and other. You've saved us all more times than we give you credit for and," Bruce took a deep breath because where he was going next was sensitive territory, "we don't blame you for what happened with Loki. It wasn't your fault."
"Don't" Clint tensed visibly.
"Clint. Just talk to us, please?" A grunt came from the archer as he hopped nimbly through the piles of stuff over his floor and into the en suite. There was no way Bruce was even going to fathom going through it all and half of it looked highly explosive anyway. He stood in the middle of the bedroom, unsure of what to do next when Clint reappeared carrying a small box, he pulled two objects out and clipped them on to his ears. Bruce quickly realised they were hearing aids. He wondered why he had never noticed them before.
"Stop staring." Clint ordered, his voice clear now he could hear it again, "They're spares, and seen as how y'all like to talk at once it's easier than not having anything."
"Why didn't you just," Bruce stopped as he realised that as Clint hadn't wanted anyone to know he wouldn't have chosen to wear them. They weren't flashy as such, but they were certainly noticeable. "Never mind." He said and ungainly ambled to the door.
Clint followed close behind, he hated the over the ear aids, they were heavy and tinny compared to his usual pair. He would much rather have been without them, but considering there was probably going to be a lot of questions and talking he didn't feel like making a complete fool of himself, not that he hadn't already. He clicked and fiddled with the controls on them, trying to get them level but until he'd actually had a conversation with someone it would be hard to tell if they were right or not. He was betting on the 'not' side of the scale.
Tony was sitting on the couch with a StarkPad on his lap moving and twisting blueprints and schematics around at an astounding speed. He looked totally engrossed in what he was doing but glance up as the pair walked in. He quickly dropped the tablet, intrigue once again filling his eyes. Steve kept his face down on the dishes he was cleaning, trying to avoid eye contact. Clint pointedly cleared his throat and after a cursory glance he couldn't stop himself,
"I'm sorry, really, I didn't mean to say what I did. I wasn't thinking and it just came out. I'm so sorry. You've done more for us than I could ever thank you for. I know you've saved my back a few times and this doesn't change anything." Steve babbled, waiting for someone to stop him. Clint just watched him, silently documenting everything that Cap was saying. It wasn't often you caught him off guard like this and it was interesting to see how he handled the situation. It took a few minutes for Clint to tell him to stop, although he would have enjoyed letting poor guy go on for a lot longer.
"Cap." He said, "It's the exact same reaction everyone has, I guess I was expecting our all-American hero to be a little more empathetic but obviously I guessed wrong. Just remember this, for once I've cleared out, in fifteen years of S.H.I.E.L.D. and over 2000 operations, not once have I ever screwed up beyond repair, with or without being able to hear."
"Sounds like our little bluebird's done alright for himself." Tony chipped in. "Man, I have no problem with you staying but, hey, if you're set on leaving…" he gave a shrug and left. How un-Tony of him. No witty comment? No banter? No general rudeness? Clint stopped, momentarily confused by the interruption. The levels certainly weren't right in his ears.
"I never said you were off the team, those were your words." Steve chimed up, gaining his composure, "As far as I'm concerned if you feel confident enough out in the field I have no reason to doubt you. That said it would have been nice to know earlier."
"I think that's always the general consensus when it comes to Clint actually talking." A red faced, sweaty Natasha appeared behind the Captain, "He has such a way with words, everything just flows out of him in one big rush of emotion. Every day, I have to put up with the endless yak-yak-yakking that he does. Honestly, it drives me insane."
Clint snorted and smiled. It was a smile Natasha hadn't seen since before he had left for New Mexico and she welcomed it with a small up-turn of her lips.
"Yeah, thanks Nat." Clint said, feigning grumpy.
"So," Cap said warily, "How did you lose your hearing?"