âWhat kind of man betrays his own fucking family?â Clint growled, angrily storming through the main living are of the tower and making a beeline to the bar. "Should've shot the fucker when I had the chance," he snarled poring himself a rather large glass of Whiskey, still in his SHIELD uniform.
Bruce frowned when he heard the archer returning from his place in the kitchen. He could feel the anger rolling off of him from this distance, and his words were laced with a piercing foulness as well. âWhat exactly happened to push you to drinking like Stark?â The scientist asked entering the living area whilst proceeding with caution.
bartonstrickarrows
A low laugh rumbled in the archerâs chest when Bruce said that. âYouâd know all about bottling things wouldnât you?â he asked rhetorically looking back at the older, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth but his eyes showed just how tired he was.
âSorry,â Clint murmured looking away and running a hand through his hair. He needed to shower and get out of his field gear.
Bruce gave the archer a noncommittal shrug to answer that and swallowed looking down at his hands. He hadn't realized that he'd been wringing them together this tightly and he instantly relaxed them and placed them in his pockets. The scientists eyes snapped back to Clint then, he could see the exhaustion pulling at him.
"Go get cleaned up, I can read to you till you fall asleep." Bruce suggested softly.










