Sometimes relaxation needs a push of the four-legged sort. Thanks to the folks at The Beta Branch who are betaing this!


"Home sweet home," Clint nodded as the three entered the small building. "Dog stays inside or in the back, and don't feed him. Shaina keeps saying that he'll get fat, even though he's already bigger than Stark's ego. What else." He frowned slightly as he headed for a staircase. "Eh, I'll remember eventually."

Natasha was looking around curiously. "You've repainted?"

"Yeah, folks were saying that the old color was depressing. Held a vote, threw out any color you'd find in a kindergarten or preschool classroom, and finally put my foot down when it looked like the discussions would go on for a year. Did the floors at the same time." Clint shrugged as he banged on a door. "Pigeon delivery!"

Bruce looked around as he heard a door open and footsteps on the stairs. "Mister Clint!" The voice had him glancing over as a woman climbed up the stairs. "Power went out again the other day. Can't you fix it?"

"Power company's been out, they say they can't find anything wrong. Same with the electricians, all three of them. Why I gave everybody battery-operated clocks and flashlights." Clint grinned helplessly. "What else can I do?"

"Fix it," the woman sniffed. "And I got another dog. Put the deposit under your door, along with her paperwork."

"How big is this one?" Clint glanced at the door he'd knocked on. "You know I need to have some limits here, Shaina."

"Only about 50 pounds. Vet says she needs to be bigger, though. She's a Great Dane mix."

"Trained?"

"You know I said I'd pay to replace the carpets and paint my apartment myself, Mister Clint. She only barks a little and loves the kids from upstairs."

"Two's the max. And you come across any other strays, you know that I know that you've got connections to rescue groups. I'm not turning the place into an animal shelter. Dog stays on a leash or in your apartment until she's totally trained and I've had a chance to meet her, and if anybody complains, we'll have to rethink everything. Cool?"

"I'll bring her up. Although might need some help getting her back down the stairs." The woman shook her head and turned around. "You sure you don't want one? I know a person who's got a really sweet foster, just needs a real home?"

"No, Shaina," Clint sighed. "My schedule is too crazy for anything other than a few plants, and I'm not even sure about those anymore." Jerking his head at Bruce and Natasha, he picked up his bag and headed back to the stairs. "They're not here. Let's go."

Bruce shook his head as Clint opened a door. "I really can't reconcile seeing you as a SHIELD agent and owning an apartment building in Brooklyn."

Natasha stepped over the pile of envelopes with a small snort. "Clint, I don't think your house sitter does a very good job. Aren't they supposed to move the mail?"

"Kid is twelve, Nat, I'm not holding her to very high standards. If she just wants to take the plants with her and not set foot in here, I'm not going to stress. I'm just happy that she remembers to actually grab my mail from downstairs and followed my request about the electricity." Clint knelt down and quickly gathered up the pile. "Bruce, why not? Sure, people don't exactly think of Bed-Stuy as the most logical, but it works, I like the people, and the gangs mostly moved out a while ago. And there are two subway lines not too far away."

"As much as you like people," Natasha called out from the kitchen. "Clint, you have nothing to eat. Is the corner market still open?"

"Yeah," Clint wandered into the kitchen, flipping through the envelopes. "You going?"

"Of course." Bruce just listened as he followed the two in from the hall. Settling down on the couch, he quietly dug the loaned laptop out of his own bag. Tony had given him copies of all the Helicarrier data, and Bruce was aching to find out where the numbers were wrong. "Bruce, do you have any requests from the store?"

"Oh, ah, nothing special, thanks." Bruce went back to his work, only to be interrupted by a rather large dog head landing in his lap.

"She likes you." The woman from earlier – Shaina, Bruce guessed – was standing by the door with her arms crossed. "Want a dog?"

"That, Shaina, is not a dog," Clint said firmly. "That's a horse. Does she even fit in your apartment?"

"Tiny fits just fine. Bruce still doesn't know what to think of her, but there's enough space."

Bruce glanced over, started to hear his name. As he sat up straight, the dog took the opportunity to climb on the couch and flopped down, head landing back in Bruce's lap. "None of that," he said firmly. "Dogs shouldn't be on furniture." He slipped his hand under the dog's muzzle, only to be startled when it let out a low moan and closed its eyes. "Um?"

"See?" Bruce was suddenly the focus of two sets of eyes. Clint looked amused, Shaina triumphant. "She likes him! What's his name?"

"Bruce," the two men said at the same time. Clint continued, "He's not staying long, and doesn't live in New York. And Tiny?"

"She is tiny. Only 55 pounds, poor dear, she needs to be twice that. Bring her downstairs later, I need to run out for a couple things before my shows."

As the door clicked shut, Clint stared at Bruce and the dog. "They're not all like that, really." He snapped his fingers. "Oh yeah. That was the other thing. If they're under the age of 18, nobody can touch the bows or be in here in places other than the living room, kitchen, and bathroom." Glancing over the space left on the couch, he shrugged and dumped the mail on the table. "Want anything to drink? I've got water."

"Water sounds good." Bruce glanced down at the head in his lap. He was startled at the way the dog was looking at him. "Tiny is a terrible name for you." He smiled slightly at the light woof the dog gave, as if it was agreeing with him. "Does this normally happen?" He called out, reaching for his laptop.

"Does what normally happen?" Clint came back into the room, balancing two glasses and a plate. "Me bringing my work home? Generally only paperwork and weapons. Not a houseguest – the only other visitor I've actually had is Natasha. The tenants dropping creatures off and telling me I need a pet? Constantly. When I'm here, feels like I'm a damn petsitter." He gave Bruce a narrow look as he set the plate on the table. "How are you feeling?" He turned and headed back towards the kitchen.

"Surprisingly relaxed," Bruce glanced down at the dog. "I don't think I've felt this way since you showed up on my porch." He caught the way the dog was managing to eye the plate without moving its head and shook his head in mild amusement. "Although I would like to get an idea as to when all this might be cleared up."

"Soon, I hope. Tony was putting his new skills to use." Clint set a bowl of water on the floor. "And we can get rid of Fido in a little bit." He caught the glances from Bruce and the dog. "Tiny, and isn't that a stupid name, stuff on the floor is for you."

"Ah." Bruce finally managed to figure out how to use the computer with a dog hanging over his lap and fell back into working. "Clint, either something's wrong with the notes that your nuclear people are keeping, Tony grabbed the wrong numbers, the data was corrupted, or you've got a bunch of, well, idiots working for you."

"Oh?" Clint glanced up curiously from where he was glancing over papers. "Why do you say that?"

"Because," Bruce swung the laptop around and pointed at the screen. "One plus one generally does not equal three in this type of math. In this situation, you use basic arithmetic." He leaned forward, only to stop at a low groan from the dog. "Sorry," he absentmindedly said. "So if this is wrong, I shudder to think of what else is wrong with the nuclear capabilities on the Helicarrier."

"You really should come work for SHIELD, Bruce." Clint shook his head. "Or at least sign on as a consultant – Tony does. Take a real vacation, come help get everything fixed, and get paid for it."

"I don't see how working would be a real vacation," Bruce reclaimed his computer. "A real vacation is something like going off into the middle of nowhere and relaxing. And I really don't like being stuck in a tin can flying at 30,000 feet; it's stressful and I put up with it because it's the fastest way to travel these days. Only thing worse would be a submarine."

"Yeah, I saw the video of your rampage through the ship last year," Clint didn't sound like he was paying attention to Bruce. "And I'll get in touch with Jasper and see if he can get you the data through proper channels, not Tony's back door hack."

"When will people realize that I am not the Hulk," Bruce growled under his breath.

"Maybe when you really, truly realize that he really is part of you. A part of you that you'd love to get rid of, yeah, but still part of you. Not to mention, Bruce, he's smart. It's just when he can't control his temper that there are problems." Clint sounded frustrated. "For somebody who's so smart…no." He stood up. "Stay there," he ordered as he headed for what Bruce assumed was a bedroom, muttering under his breath.

"Well then," Bruce murmured down to the dog. The dog just sighed and tried to crawl further into Bruce's lap. "Stop that. You're too big."

"Scientists. Wonder why I even try sometimes, but no, Barton, you have to be stubborn about things," Clint was still muttering as he returned and picked up Bruce's laptop. "Here. A copy of SHIELD's file on you. Don't tell anybody that you've seen this, clear?" He plugged in a flash drive and handed it back.

Bruce started reading as he heard the door open and Natasha's voice. He ignored the conversation the two agents were having, focusing on the sheer amount of information that SHIELD had gathered about him. It was startling, he realized, seeing how far back they'd gone, while at the same time fascinating as to how in depth they'd managed to go. Finally giving up on being gentle with the dog, Bruce lightly shoved at her shoulder as he stood up.

"I would like to know how many people have seen this," Bruce stood in the kitchen doorway. "Because I'm feeling confused."

"That version?" Clint glanced at Natasha. Almost nervously, Bruce thought. "Me, Nat, Phil, Fury…"

"Maybe ten people have seen it in completion and know who it's about. But there are very strict penalties for talking," Natasha cut in smoothly. Bruce suddenly realized that the two agents had misunderstood him. A flash of amusement had him deciding to just play along. "Most things gathered for profiles are not common knowledge; I doubt that the average person at SHIELD would even know who you are. Clint should not have even taken that much data with him."

"Toss me under the bus, why don't you," Clint muttered. "Fine. Yes, Bruce, SHIELD looks heavily into backgrounds. There's a personality profile in there on you; where I'd've started reading, actually. If you're interested, a few scientists have a couple theories floating around as to why that much gamma radiation didn't kill you. I guess you didn't get to that part yet."

"I didn't get that far, no. And talking with your scientists about their theories sounds interesting, so yes, I'd like to talk with them eventually. But considering how in depth everything went, and just now finding out that 'maybe' ten people have seen all this?" Bruce didn't realize that he was petting the dog until the smooth velvet of its fur registered in his mind. "I'm just curious, honestly."

"Why me," Clint groaned and dropped his head into his hands. Natasha lightly patted his shoulder with a small smile and wink at Bruce. "Nat, back me up here."

"I was taken from my family at a young age and raised to be a spy and assassin; one of the best in the world. However, I am quick to judge and sometimes have trouble changing my opinions, even when I am quite clearly in the wrong. I am rarely wrong, regardless of what people may say. Clint is an ex-con, former carnival act who is one of SHIELD's finest, but he never washes his socks and likes to eat cereal. Constantly. How he's survived this long on a diet of Fruit Loops, I don't know. He snores." Natasha deftly avoided Clint's waving hand. "SHIELD has tracked you ever since your accident, Bruce, which is another reason why we know so much about you."

"Nat, shut up," Clint pleaded. "Not helping."

"Helping," Natasha corrected. "Right, Bruce? Now that you know some of the secrets of the people who know yours? And," she added dryly, "If you think your file looks bad, you should see Tony Stark's. Or Steve Rogers'. Now those are men who took a while to profile, and I am not completely sure that Tony's is accurate anymore."

"I really didn't need to learn all that," Bruce started, "But you're right, it is helping. Especially since all this," he held up the laptop, "Isn't common knowledge. And I'm not upset. Much."

"We're not about to go singing things from rooftops, Bruce. SHIELD is pretty private." Clint looked at the scientist. "Nosy? Very. We just need to have all the information so that we can try to avoid potential triggers if we have to work with you again. Now that we know that you've got control over the Hulk and won't unwillingly change unless you're really stressed, that's going to go in there too and Nat and I won't have to dance on eggshells."

"I don't dance on eggshells around anybody," Natasha lightly nudged Clint's shoulder. "And stop being so melodramatic. He said that he's not upset, and I decided to even everything out a little when it came to learning about the two of us. Or mostly you, actually, since you're the one who isn't thinking straight. Who is the dog?"

"Not staying." Clint snapped his fingers at the dog. "C'mon you, Shaina should be back by now. I should still have," he trailed off, slowing turning to stare at the cupboards, before quickly moving to one and pulling out a box. "There. Okay, you behave and I'll give you a treat." Pulling a set of keys off a hook he headed for the door. "And discretion being the better part of valor, I'm removing myself from this situation before you embarrass me even more."

"Tell me," Natasha mused as Clint vanished. "What is it with men and your posturing?"

"Psychological. It can be traced back throughout history." Bruce sat down at the small table in the kitchen, going back to reading everything that SHIELD had dug up about him. "Even though I'm firmly of the opinion that you may have gone to extremes in what you've discovered. My shoe size is not something that should be thrown about."

He didn't see Natasha roll her eyes. "Men," she muttered, making it sound like a curse.

"Then maybe you tell me why it was so important to go so far back?" Bruce looked at Natasha. "I had a security clearance; they only went back ten years. Not all the way back to when I was 18."

"That, I don't know." Natasha tilted her head to one side. "I suspect that it's routine and that if you looked further, you'll have found that your clearance level has increased; they did the same with Tony and Steve, as well as a few other select individuals that you truly do not have the clearance to learn about. I would like to suggest that you save up your annoyances and take them out on Fury when you get a chance to see him. If you ask nicely, Clint and I might even be willing to hold him down for you." She lightly huffed. "I was supposed to be on a beach in France right now. But instead, I'm back in New York."

Bruce slowly nodded. "I'll pass on that, but I'm not blaming you two for doing your jobs. I can't, and never have. The level of overreaction towards me and my connection with the Other Guy you two have shown I'm a little upset about, but you didn't know and didn't believe me at first, obviously. I'm just trying to reconcile the fact that Clint acts like he wants to be friendly one minute, and then turns around and says that he doesn't bring work home with him. This – me – is quite obviously work. And when you're by yourself, cereal or toast is easier than cooking a full meal."

"Clint has some of the worst interpersonal skills ever known to man. Mine aren't much better at times." Natasha was slowly moving around the kitchen, putting things away. "He acts the way people want him to act, but he hasn't yet figured out how you want him to act. He thinks you want something more than simply being honest and not jumping to conclusions. I," she turned and smiled brightly at Bruce, "Know better. I'll talk to him, just like I'm talking to you, and remember, tomorrow is another day. Although I don't think you survive on Fruit Loops. You look to be more of a person who eats toast or at the school cafeteria."

"How?" Bruce muttered, before starting to read faster. If they'd written down the contents of his kitchen

"I know how to read people, Bruce. Plus, you are an older, single male who is unquestionably not adventurous – it is obvious that you choose your place and then just want to stay there – and are decidedly more mature than some. From there, I guess." Natasha leaned against the counter with a small shrug. "It's a living. And," she smiled, "I enjoyed playing with Clint's head just now. Thank you; it was very relaxing. Not as good as that beach, but a decent second place option."

"Dammit, Nat, part of that playing people game is to not say it's a game where the people who don't know it's a game can hear. This long, you'd think that you'd've learned that." Clint was standing in the door. "By the way," he held up his phone, "Jasper called. He's sending me some decent data for you, Bruce, and he and Blake tracked down a couple odd transmissions to and from Ross that they're trying to work out; he's sending that so we can take a look also."

Bruce caught the smug smile as Natasha turned her back on Clint. "She's good. She was playing both of us."

"There are many reasons she has the codename Black Widow." Clint sat down at the table. "She does stuff like that. Should see her fighting. It's fascinating, the moves she can pull off. Most people couldn't." He laughed. "Although I'm wondering why I didn't see it faster."

"You were distracted." Natasha pulled out a pot and filled it with water. "Start working; the sooner we can figure this out the sooner Bruce can go back to his life."

"Nag nag nag," Clint grinned at Bruce as he stood up. "Yes, Mother."

Bruce laughed, feeling fully relaxed for the first time in – weeks, he supposed. Suddenly this entire debacle took on the feeling of a vacation and he made the silent vow to keep on treating it like one unless Ross became involved again. "May I check my e-mail, too?"

"Don't have wireless access here." Clint shook his head. "I'll hook you up later, if that's okay."

"You don't have wireless?" Bruce blinked. "Everybody has wireless these days."

"Don't forget, Bruce, Clint is old fashioned enough to use bows and arrows," Natasha said lightly. "And-" a knock and a muffled shout had her glancing towards the front door. "Why pigeons, Clint?"

"That's Kate," Clint said as he dug his wallet out of his pocket. "And I don't know, it was something that she started when I moved in here and asked her to grab my mail and water the plants when I'm gone. I just run with it." He paused, staring pointedly at Natasha. "Nobody changes my stuff. I like how I live."


Bruce quietly worked at the table, watching out of the corner of his eye as the two SHIELD agents moved through the kitchen. After Natasha had turned on the radio they didn't say a word and barely looked at each other, but somehow Clint knew where Natasha was going to be as he held out a can, and he was just there when Natasha tossed a jar of spaghetti sauce over her shoulder. It was an intricate dance, and one that spoke of how close their partnership really was. He'd never been as close to Betty as those two appeared to be to each other, and he was surprised to feel a faint flicker of jealousy even as he settled back further in his seat to enjoy what he was seeing.

"Hey, Bruce." Clint's voice had Bruce starting slightly. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"A little jealous, actually." The admission had Natasha looking over curiously. "Just watching you two work together; makes me think of what-ifs."

"We've had practice," was all that Natasha said, turning back to the stove.

"Although not a lot in kitchens," Clint said, dropping silverware on the table. Bruce responded to the unspoken request and started setting places. "But there is some crossover from being in the field to making dinner." He moved to stand next to Natasha, taking the piece of spaghetti she handed him. "Good enough, Nat. Thanks, Bruce. Didn't have to do that."

"Earning my keep," Bruce said lightly. "Didn't you say that you had questions for Eric? Do you think that I could help you out with them?"

"Of course," Clint glanced at Bruce out of the corner of his eye. "I've got an arrow design that has been bugging me for a while, but there's something that just doesn't work out all that well in reality. And before you ask, I wasn't about to ask Tony; man doesn't have any idea of boundaries sometimes."

Bruce chuckled. "The tower?"

"Tower?" Natasha asked as she brought food over to the table and Clint nodded. "What tower?"

"Stark Tower has been remodeled to give us each our own personal floor to live on." Clint rolled his eyes. "Why, I don't know. He either has knowledge that we don't or just wanted to waste his money."

"He's lonely," Natasha said. "Only Bruce can truly compare to him when it comes to intelligence, and he has spent so much of his adult life acting the playboy that he only has a few friends. Happy died, as well, which took away one of those friends. I can't blame him for wanting to reach out to others."

"He started planning it after the alien attack, though," Bruce pointed out.

"And I worked with him while you were on your way back from Brazil. I was to evaluate him for the Avenger's Initiative," Natasha stated as she sat down. "Even then, he surrounded himself with sycophants and yes-men and acted the child in public. In private you could see how much he was hurting."

"Still," Clint said. "Wasted his money." He just stared back at Natasha. "You don't like to be tied down to one place, you know that you've got my spare bedroom here, and I've seen your space at headquarters." He glanced at Bruce. "I like my space here, but her quarters," he whistled. "Total luxury. Oh yeah. One other thing. You can have the couch, or space on my floor."

"Since Natasha says that you snore," Bruce felt the corner of his mouth quirk up at Clint's snort, "I'll take the couch."

"No." Natasha held out a basket of rolls. "Clint or I will take the couch, and Bruce can have the free bed. Fewer points of access."

Clint sighed. "Which means I get the couch. At least it's comfortable. Bruce, don't worry, everything's clean. Cleaner than Nat keeps things, that's for sure."

"Because I have you to clean up after me. Now stop talking and eat your dinner, the both of you. There's a movie on tonight that I want to watch." Natasha didn't give the men a chance to object as she dumped food on their plates. "Bruce, I hope you aren't a vegetarian. My memory is shoddy on that front."