Author's Note: Those of you who read my Stargate writing know I don't ask for reviews often. Most of the time, I can gauge how many reviews I'll get based on the type of story I write. However, I felt a little confused after getting only one review last chapter but a ton of follows. I honestly wasn't sure if I'd written a "good" chapter or not. Just remember something: writers on this site don't get paid to put their stories on here. We thrive on reviews, and reviews help us stay motivated to finish stories faster. All that said, hope you enjoy this chapter! ~lg

oOo

Midnight at Stark Tower was an interesting time. Bruce Banner had learned this after his second evening staying with Tony Stark. He had wandered into the main living area, which Stark promptly dubbed the Commons, and found Stark and his girlfriend, Pepper, making out on a couch near a broken, plastic-covered window. Another time, he found Pepper doing paperwork, Stark playing with one of his robots, or any combination of the two. Thankfully, they kept their more intimate activities out of the view of everyone, but Bruce had quickly developed the habit of sweeping the area before barging into it.

The Commons had been fully repaired and renovated. It took a huge amount of money to tear a group of engineers away from Manhattan to repair one tower, but Stark could afford it. He'd redecorated, warming the place up with a central fire pit, maple-colored paneling on parts of the wall, new tile, and a seating arrangement that invited people to linger. Bruce quite liked the set-up. The Commons was still massive, and those few people gathered at Stark Tower could retreat into their own little worlds and never be bothered by others around them. The floor-to-ceiling windows that gave such a fantastic view of New York City had doors that led onto Stark's "balcony," though that word didn't quite do it justice. All in all, very few visiting this room would imagine that this was the place Loki surrendered himself into the Avengers' custody.

Tonight, Bruce wandered through the darkened Commons on his way to the bar. He'd been working in the lab Stark had given him and realized belatedly that he hadn't brought a bottle of water. As he headed for the bar area, he glanced out the windows and stopped. The lights that drew attention to Stark Tower's architecture highlighted a shadowed figure at the edge of the balcony. He watched the other man sigh and changed his direction. After grabbing two bottles of beer, he slipped out the open door.

Clint Barton stood at the edge of the balcony, one foot resting on the low railing while he leaned his elbows on his raised knee. His hunched shoulders showed signs of weariness, but Bruce could see he wasn't contemplating anything destructive. The Hawk likely needed the open sky and fresh air of the night.

Barton's arrival at the tower had surprised Bruce. He knew Steve had moved to New York from the SHIELD helicarrier for a reason, and he hadn't been too shocked. However, waking up that first day just over a week ago to see Barton standing outside, in this very spot, told him that the Avengers were truly coming together after the battle. The Council's inquiry into what happened with Loki, the massive repairs being done to the city, and the public outcry—good and bad—had given Bruce plenty to think about. He didn't want to know what had to be going through Agent Barton's head.

Carefully approaching the other man, he deliberately made some noise so he didn't startle Barton. Bruce had heard stories in his short time with SHIELD and the Avengers. He would hate for The Other Guy to appear just because he was irresponsible.

Barton's head turned at the small noise, listening as Bruce stopped next to him. Then, he went back to studying the skyline. "Hey, Doc."

Bruce grinned ironically at that title. "You can call me 'Bruce.' I don't mind." He offered one of the beers he'd swiped from the bar.

Barton took it and frowned. "You drink?" When Bruce held up his own bottle of nonalcoholic beer, he nodded. "Never mind."

"Never did like the feeling of being drunk, of being out of control like that." Bruce shrugged. "Then The Other Guy showed up. He likes beer, so I stay away from it."

Barton took a drink and swallowed. "I know what that's like."

"I'm sure you do." Bruce shook his head. "It's. . .disconcerting."

"Yeah." Barton stayed silent for so long that Bruce thought the conversation had ended. He sipped his beer, watched the horizon, and seemed to enjoy the feel of the breeze running through his hair.

Bruce admitted that Barton had found a nice spot for thinking. The wind was a bit stiff up here, but nothing he couldn't handle. It was peaceful, though, away from New York's craziness. When Stark first offered to have him visit the tower, Bruce had reminded him how he'd broken Harlem. Now, he was glad he had listened.

Barton suddenly spoke. "How do you do it, Doc? Go back to life as if nothing happened?"

"I don't." Bruce's answer caused the other man to huff out a laugh. "There's no going back sometimes. I just try to deal with the memories and move on."

"Yeah? And how do you do that?"

"It depends on what I remember." Bruce paused long enough to take another drink. "Sometimes, I remember most of what happened, like with the Chitauri. Sometimes, I just come to and find the destruction." He shook his head. "It's a nightmare."

Barton nodded once. "I remember bits and pieces. Flashes, really. Things that Loki deemed important." His gaze swept over the horizon, seeing how night covered the reality of what had been done to the city. The emergency vehicles had finally stopped flashing the area at all hours, which went a long way to help things get back to normal. Several buildings had been reduced to rubble, others irreparably damaged, and yet others battle-scarred. Manhattan wouldn't be "back to normal" for a very long time. When Barton spoke next, it was so soft Bruce barely heard him. "It is a nightmare. . .being so out of touch with reality, knowing I needed to stop but not able to physically do anything."

Bruce weighed his next words, knowing he needed to be careful or Barton would shut him out completely. Of all the people in Stark Tower, he truly understood that "out of touch" feeling. But telling the other man what he did to get over it wasn't so simple. There was a long process involved, something Bruce had learned through trial and error. He couldn't put it into words. He just knew how to move on.

But what did a "normal" human know about that sort of thing? Bruce had seen Barton's medical file. He knew the archer to be at the peak of human condition while still fully human. He had no defense against someone controlling his mind, not like the Hulk did. But he did have training. "What do you do when you go undercover? How do you handle getting back to who you are?"

Barton shrugged. "It's easy, Doc. I'm not out of touch. I know what I'm doing and why."

"Not what I meant."

Barton sighed deeply. "I guess I take a few days to myself, let myself fully shed that persona of whatever bad guy I had to become." He frowned. "After all these years, I guess it's pretty easy. This time, though. . . ." He trailed off for a moment. "This time was different. I wasn't just pretending to be a bad guy; I was the bad guy. I willingly betrayed my friends and colleagues, and Coulson paid the price. All of you did."

"But it wasn't you."

"Everyone keeps telling me that, and I'm sick of hearing it!" The sudden anger that erupted from the normally calm and controlled archer startled Bruce slightly. He mentally stepped back and reevaluated Barton's mental condition. Constantly hearing that he wasn't responsible when he really was had driven Bruce a little insane for a short time. He had learned to cope, to accept responsibility without liability for the Hulk's actions. But Barton, a SHIELD agent and man accustomed to being in complete control at all times, would struggle with that lesson. In his world, all liability rested on his shoulders if a mission went south.

After a long moment, Barton sighed, his shoulders slumping even more. When he spoke, he had lost the heat of his previous statement. "Sorry. It's just. . . ." He looked at the horizon, jaw jutting out as he put his thoughts in order. "Everyone, including Fury, wants to sweep this under the rug. 'Don't worry about it,' they say. 'You weren't yourself; you were under Loki's control.'" Barton shook his head. "Problem is, I was myself. I did what I was trained to do: infiltrate an enemy base and kill anyone who resisted. I'm a killer, Doc," he said as he stared at the beer in his hands. "I can't get away from that anymore. Even though they say it wasn't my fault, they still look at me like a traitor. Like I'm the one who killed Coulson. And it's. . . .Well, it's killing me."

Bruce waited, knowing the other man had more to say. Barton didn't strike him as the type to spill everything to just anyone, so he felt rather honored to be out here, listening to one of SHIELD's top agents at one in the morning. The hour that had passed seemed quick, and Bruce hated that he couldn't put his own experiences with the Hulk into better words. But it had taken years of getting to know himself to be able to cope with what had happened six weeks ago. Now, after years of dealing with The Other Guy, Bruce had been able to process the horror of the Chitauri attack and stuff it away in a box labeled "Hulk—Do Not Open." He supposed Barton wasn't asking him for that solution.

Finally, Barton straightened. "Sorry to dump that on you."

"Don't be." Bruce finished off his beer. "We all need to talk sometimes." He turned and pinned the other man in place. "And we all need to get away, too. Some place where we can find who we are without all the. . .extra baggage. Where you can be you and not Agent Barton or Hawkeye."

Barton snorted. "I don't even know who that is anymore."

Bruce shrugged. "Maybe you should find out." He met the other man's eyes when Barton turned. "Look, I know you can't leave until this inquiry wraps up, but that should happen any day. You might want to think about taking some time to get to know yourself again." He narrowed his eyes. "You want to know what truly helped me, Agent Barton? Deep down? I know who I am, and that allows me to handle anything The Other Guy does. What he does doesn't affect what I do. I had to learn that the hard way, and I'm still learning it. It does get easier, but it takes time. And killing yourself in those streets to rebuild something beyond your control while you mentally castigate yourself isn't going to help you figure out your problems."

Barton nodded in response. He continued to stare at the horizon as Bruce turned toward the house. "Thanks." The archer's quiet voice floated across the balcony just as he reached the door. "And it's 'Clint,' Doc. Just. . .'Clint.'"

Bruce grinned as he stepped back inside and left the other man to his thoughts. Only one person in their circle called Agent Barton by his given name. To be accorded that honor. . . .That made the late night worth it. It meant something he'd said had gotten through to the man underneath the agent.

Bruce wearily wandered back to his guest rooms and closed the door. His talk with Clint had brought up the memories he had of the Chitauri attack. While he'd coped with what the Hulk had done weeks ago, he still hadn't fully faced the nightmares of that attack. Seeing those cars overturned, the monsters that came out of that portal, the maniacal gleam in Loki's eyes. . . .It had put the Hulk into perspective for him. The Hulk was needed at times, and would continue to be needed as long as creatures like Loki made Earth their target. But Clint didn't have that defense. He still felt the recriminations of his actions while under Loki's control. He still faced the Council's inquiry and knew that he could lose everything with just the wrong decision.

More tired than he'd been since the attack, Bruce rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. His mind would continue to whirl around the problem if he didn't stop it. Forcing himself to sleep had become something of a habit lately, and he idly wondered if Agent Barton did the same. As he fell asleep, the same question Clint had asked him rolled through his head.

How do you do it? Go back to life as if nothing happened?

He wished he really had the answer instead of knowing how to just cope.