fic: like you for always 4/5
Flip is a total cockblock. And okay, he knew she would be, at least for a while, but she’s some kind of Bruce repellant.
This is not fantastic news.
::
Clint stops accessorizing with the spit-up towel and he shakes the smell of baby powder and dirty diapers, and hell, he stops looking like the Walking Dead. He puts on real clothes instead of his track pants and he makes an effort, he shaves and flosses and everything, talks Tony into prodding Bruce out of the lab so he’ll be around for dinner.
Clint has plans, is the thing, Clint means to celebrate nine whole hours of continuous quiet, and the best way to do that involves a gorgeous genius sharing Clint’s bed.
He even gets a little. Bruce shows up sleepy-eyed and rumpled, Bruce smiles and lets Clint pull him close, Bruce cups Clint’s neck and kisses him deep while they’re fumbling blind for Clint’s couch. He palms Clint’s shirt up and kisses Clint’s neck, licks a hot stripe and bites at Clint’s jawline, and it feels so good after their newborn break that Clint just melts with it, lets Bruce do whatever.
Bruce’s back is hot and solid through the thin cloth of his shirt and Clint shifts a little to get busy unbuttoning, letting Bruce lean over him to try to help.
God, Bruce looks so good. It’s been way too long.
And Bruce is fixated on a spot on Clint’s collarbone like Clint is fixated on the curve of Bruce’s ass and they’re both drowning in each other, he thinks, this is exactly how it should be, and Bruce mutters things in scorching hot Portuguese that make Clint flush. He doesn’t know the words but that tone is unmistakable.
“Yeah, anything,” Clint answers, fumbling back because that’s more leeway than he usually gives, but he trusts Bruce like he can’t remember ever trusting anyone else he’s fucked.
He trusts Bruce enough to want to sleep beside him with Flip just down the hall. Trusts Bruce not to hurt him in any way he won’t appreciate, now and later.
So when Bruce clamps down on one sucked-red nipple, Clint yelps and laughs. Then Clint says, “Shhh, quiet, you’ll wake her up.”
It takes way to long to work out that Bruce isn’t laughing.
Takes long enough, actually, that Bruce is getting up, getting dressed, backing away and mumbling bullshit about how this isn’t a good idea, Bruce is tired.
::
So that fucking happens.
It is not an isolated incident, either.
Bruce lives in his lab and Clint can come visit, the door’s ‘always open’, but never with Flip, because it’s dangerous for babies, even when Bruce is just crunching numbers. Bruce comes to dinner if Clint talks Tony into dragging him but Tony’s not human, Tony Stark’s a machine, and regular mealtimes just aren’t a thing Tony does. When Bruce shows up, he sits as far away from Flip as possible, and Clint wants to think this is Natasha all over again, someone else in his life who just can’t do babies, but Bruce won’t stop staring.
What Clint sees in those eyes doesn’t fit with the no-babies theory, not when Bruce keeps drinking in the sight of her like he means to memorize it all, and that is not a face that should be running from her at every possible opportunity.
It takes him a week to work out what’s up. Clint blames months of sleep deprivation.
::
“You avoiding me for a reason, Brown Eyes? This your way of saying you’re not interested anymore?”
Bruce’s gaze sweeps the room like he’s checking out the escape routes. Clint sighs mentally and leans back by the door, lurking at the lab entrance so Bruce can’t bolt.
“What? No, I’ve just been busy.” Total bullshit, according to Tony, but Bruce looks like he wants to mean it. Fucking scientists, man. So predictable.
“So I’ve heard. Here’s the thing, though: I’m busy, too. Dunno if you’ve noticed but I’ve got a thing eating up all my time. Makes it kind of hard to keep tracking you down, you know?” Slow and steady means he can’t push but Christ, he wants to. “But Bruce, I’m trying. Making an effort. And it’s good with us, I think, I think it’s worth trying, but you’ve got to meet me halfway. Otherwise, what’s the point?”
Bruce just watches him, hungry and skittish. Clint wants to cross the room and crawl into that lap, settle himself between Bruce and his work so Clint can kiss that look off Bruce’s face, ease the tension out of him.
“You’re right,” Bruce says finally, and then he repeats it. “You are trying and I’m not really holding up my end of this, am I?” Bruce blurts a soft sound Clint won’t mistake for a laugh, rubs at his nose underneath his glasses. “I just...can’t. Not with the baby. It’s...” Bruce trails off, squints at nothing. “You know what you’re getting into with me, Clint. She doesn’t. And I can’t take that risk.”
It’s not unexpected. Hell, Bruce only really has the one big hang-up, everything else just pales by comparison to how much he does not trust his Other Guy, So Clint wants to argue, but that’s a losing game, possibly always will be, and Clint is not going to pretend dignity here. He wants whatever part of Bruce he can have, for however long he gets it.
“It’s Flip, though? It’s not me?” Bruce is not the only one with issues; Clint needs to hear it, too. Or see it, whatever, the way Bruce looks like Clint’s stunned him is good enough. “Okay then. We can work with that.”
Bruce seems suspicious. “Work with that how?”
“I don’t know, I’ll find a sitter? Maybe not Dummy, he likes having me close by in case of incident, but Tony?” Bruce scrunches his nose. “Okay, yeah, maybe not Tony. But someone? A responsible someone I can leave my kid with? I do that, are we good?”
And yeah, apparently they are.
The only problem, then, is finding someone to watch her.
::
Pepper? Is not a babysitter. Natasha? Is a hell no, Clint won’t even ask her. JARVIS could do it but JARVIS is incorporal, which seems like leaving her with Dummy, and Tony’s best efforts involve Flip in the workshop.
JARVIS cuts that night short before they’re even undressed. Apparently Tony is another in case of incident.
Clint’s beyond frustrated and Bruce is withdrawing and Flip is still the greatest kid in the world but Clint’s life is woefully short responsible adults. It might be time to get desperate, try Grandpa Fury again.
Then, like a gift from Asgard, Dr. Foster gets the Einstein-Rosen bridge working again and Clint has himself one demigod about to get a crash course in Midgardian young.
::
Thor moves in with Dr. Foster and spends an hour or so being, well, Thor at everyone before Flip’s up from her nap.
Then Thor’s curious and Clint doesn’t have it in him to ward the big guy off.
If Thor doesn’t scare her, he figures, she’s probably okay with loud. This bodes well for the Hulk.
“So this is a tiny Midgardian,” Thor says, staring down at her. Flip’s fucking tiny anyway, she always seems so little in her crib, but Thor is massive, he is a slab of happy Asgardian turned quiet and careful in her presence.
“Yep.” Clint scoops her up and does a diaper check, heads her over to her change table to use his ninja diaper skills. “Grab me her Iron Man hoodie?” Thor frowns at him, very what is this ‘hoodie’ you speak of, so Clint tucks Flip up on his shoulder and dances over to grab it himself, swinging her down on her change table with a flourish that gets her happy-baby kicking and laughing at him. “You, little monster,” he warns, pointing at her and trying not to smile when she clutches at his finger. “I am putting socks on you. You hear me? And it is your job to keep them both on your feet. Deal?”
He brushes his fingertip over her nose. She squeals in delight, rocks happily. Happiest kid in the galaxy, he thinks, and he is ridiculously proud of her for being that kind of outstanding already.
Delighted baby is fun to watch but it is hell itself to change, though, so Clint has to get creative with her. Thor’s just the obvious choice. “Hey, big guy, mind giving me a hand here?”
“How can I help?” Thor asks. Flip goes a little nuts at the sound of Thor’s voice, beams toothlessly up at him and won’t even blink for watching him. Clint’s kid is barely six months old now and she’s already got her first crush. Fabulous.
“I need a distraction,” Clint says, working her onesie loose. “Give her your finger for a sec?”
And okay, Flip looks even tinier hanging on to Thor’s big finger but she stays still for him, lets Clint change her and get her dressed, sock and all. When Thor has to let go so Clint can slide her hoodie on, she protests with righteous little fists and that firm determination that had her crawling early.
As soon as both her sleeves are on, Thor holds out a cautious finger. “Is it all right, Clint Barton?”
“What? Oh, yeah, that’s cool.” Actually… “You want to hold her?”
“She is quite strong for one so small,” Thor says. Clint’s pretty sure Thor’s not talking to him.
“Kids aren’t small on your world?”
“They are,” Thor agrees. “But they are rarely this small around me.”
Clint glances up at him, finds Thor’s smile creasing the skin around his eyes, something pretty heavy behind it. Total SHIELD baby, he thinks; coaxing everybody’s secrets out of them, not giving away any of her own. “No real trick to ‘em. Just keep her head supported and try not to drop her. I’m told they don’t bounce.”
“That is good to know.”
Thor takes her easily, holds her delicately in the crook of an arm and looks to Clint for adjustments.
“Your arm’ll get tired holding her like that and anyway, she’s squirmy. Got a mind of her own, this one.” Clint can’t help his pride.
::
Getting Thor to hold the tiny Midgardian is the first step in what proves to be a simple process. Clint’s got himself a sitter before Thor even knows it’s a choice and from the way Dr. Foster gets gooey-eyed at the sight of Thor holding an infant, Flip’s in good hands.
Soon enough, her daddy should be, too. Clint cannot wait.
Thor has one little moment of parental misgiving when Clint drops her off but it stays mercifully brief.
“I have not yet had strong sons and clever daughters to carry on in my stead. I am not…I do not feel myself ready.” Thor frowns in thought, looks at Flip as though she’s some test he cannot pass.
Clint’s not real sure what to say to that, what Phil would say, but it’s not like he can’t weigh in himself. “Well, when you are, if you need baby books and furniture and shit, you know where to find it.” Clint flashes Thor a tight, uncertain grin. Then, because Thor still looks serious, introspective, Clint says, “If it helps, man, I didn’t, either. Not sure anyone does.”
It feels like forever before Thor grins back, just as uncertain but achingly hopeful, and then Clint’s thumping Thor’s arm and wishing him luck, strolling off to find Bruce to make up for lost time.
::
For a while, it’s outstanding. Clint is a genius. Bruce is hot and hard and strong under his lab coat and he touches Clint like Clint’s his whole world. Clint is the luckiest bastard in ever because look at his life; he’s got his kid and he’s got his friends and he’s got his Clint-and-Dummy time -- because they are bonding -- and now, he’s got this, Bruce in his bed holding him close, making Clint feel more and more like this is how life should be.
It helps that Thor adapts so fast to his small Migardian charge, and that Thor doesn’t mind taking her so Clint can steal some time with Bruce. Bruce gets weird about it sometimes, flustered and worried they’re overstepping, asking too much of Thor’s time and energy, and Bruce still gets weird about the Hulk, but that’s Bruce.
Just one more thing Clint loves about him, how anxious he gets when he thinks he’s intruding, how often he puts everyone else first.
It’s not the only thing Clint loves about him, sure, but it’s definitely right up there.
::
Things can’t stay that good forever, and even as Clint appreciates how easy it’s been since Thor showed up like the anti-cockblock, Clint knows it can’t last.
Eventually, Bruce’s Other Guy is going to find out there’s a tiny person in the tower and when he does, someone’s going to have to deal with it.
Going to have to explain.
Clint can think of better ways to spend his time alone with Bruce than teaching Hulk about child-appropriate behavior but honestly, by the time it comes up, Clint’s glad it has.
If nothing else, it’s the next logical step in making things permanent, or as close as Clint gets.
And Hulk, as it happens, is pretty good about it, once he understands.
::
“She’s only still just little, we have to be quiet and careful when she’s around, and I know you can be both, buddy, if you know it’s important.” Clint smiles encouragement, nods for agreement. Hulk’s face twists in thought before he nods back.
“Baby,” Hulk says, testing the word.
“Yep, that’s right. Baby Phillipa. We call her Flip.”
Hulk tries the name out and abandons the thought when he doesn’t see her there in the room, and honestly, Clint thinks that’s the end of it.
So much less traumatizing than Bruce thought but whatever, Clint’s just glad it’s done.
Then Hulk shows up mid blowjob, because Clint really is that good with his mouth, and Clint’s too busy trying to compartmentalize the cockblock to deal with the panic.
“Baby?” Hulk asks, unsteadily, green eyes gone soft and sweet with alarm.
Clint lays on his back on the far side of their bed, hands on his face while he tries to re-anchor himself, breathing heavy and hot all over. When he glances up, Hulk’s hovering over him, his dark brows drawn together, his big mouth twisting unhappily.
“Cupid,” Hulk says urgently. It’s so very much softer than Clint expects. “Cupid, baby?”
It takes Clint a moment to work past his aching dick but, well, baby’s not a new concept in his life. “Flip, buddy?”
Hulk looks confused but he nods. “Cupid, Hulk smash baby?”
He sounds worried he has. Christ. Clint wishes Bruce could see himself when he gets like this, because Clint’s pretty sure this would put a lot of Bruce’s bullshit to rest.
Clint must take too long to get an answer out, though, because Hulk sort of…keens. Looks upset. Not smash-ragey but hurt.
So Clint jackknifes up, pushes everything else away.
“No, buddy,” Clint says, touching Hulk’s broad shoulder to draw his attention again. “No, Hulk didn’t smash. Flip’s fine, Green Eyes, she’s in her room with Thor.”
“Hulk not smash?” Hulk looks skeptical. Clint has no clue how so many people miss this, the depth and intelligence of Bruce’s greener side.
Clint wants to laugh. Isn’t quite sure how it would sound, what Hulk would make of it. He’s still needy and restless to give that blowjob but that’s not going to happen, at least not tonight, and instead of sucking Bruce off until Bruce pulls his hair and comes, Clint’s apparently going to have to reassure his worried rage monster.
What even is Clint’s life?
“You smashed the nightstand and you knocked some shit over, buddy. I don’t even want to guess what you did to your cell phone but I’m going to bet it’ll make Tony cry tomorrow. But no, you absolutely didn’t hurt the baby. Okay?”
Hulk thinks that over. Clint shifts uncomfortably in his jeans, glad he hadn’t gotten as far as undressing but not exactly grateful for the tight fit at the moment.
“Hulk loud,” Hulk informs him, so serious about it Clint can’t help a lopsided grin. “Baby not like loud.”
“Baby can’t hear you.” Clint drags himself out of bed, tugs his shirt back on as he heads for the bathroom to splash cold water on his overheated face. “You want to watch a little Dora the Explorer with me, Green Eyes? Or we could see if there’s something good on the Outdoor Life network?”
Hulk likes wilderness shows, backwoods survivalist campers and shit from the Discovery Channel, the family lives of gazelles and the migration patterns of birds, that sort of thing. Hulk thinks Steve Irwin’s funny and Hulk claps sometimes for Jack Hanna but he gets a bit angry when the animals get hurt.
Clint can’t say that any of that would have been on his to-watch list before Hulk but he can usually follow Hulk’s shows better than he manages with the things Bruce picks.
“Baby watch Dora?” Hulk wants to know.
“She’s, uh, too young for tv still but I bet when she’s old enough, she’d love to watch it with you. You can help her find things, right?”
Hulk nods, happy enough about the plan, and Clint asks JARVIS to pull something appropriate off their DVR.
Clint gets Bruce back at the tail end of Happy Feet, the only penguin movie Hulk can stand.
All things considered, Clint thinks that went well.
Bruce, on the other hand, disappears.
::
Clint’s got drool and baby vomit on his back, Flip’s burping towel slung over his shoulder and every reason to think she’s missed it again, his tiny, perfect kid resting quiet against his chest and probably totally aware she’s been naughty. She’s still so little there’s not much she can do to prank him and hell, every baby thing he’s read says at this age, she won’t even try, but Clint likes to think his kid is the kind of fabulous that pranks and gets contrary right from the start.
He can’t quite believe anyone with Natasha’s genetic makeup misses so consistently accidentally, is all.
Still, Clint having baby fluids -- drool’s a big one but there’ve been a few unhappy incidents with misfastened diapers and pretty much every burping session goes the spit-up route -- that’s not exactly new. When Dummy’s around, Clint tends to get mauled with a damp cloth, Dummy’s cleaning subroutine running near-constantly because Flip gets messy.
When the door chimes, Clint wonders if JARVIS is selling him out now, if he’ll open his door to find Dummy hovering with a damp cloth and that overeagerness to help Clint’s not entirely sure he’s projecting anymore.
That might just be Dummy. And, well, everybody has their quirks. Dummy means well; Clint can live with getting soaked.
It’s not Dummy, though, it’s Tony, who’s brought a mug of coffee the size of Flip’s head and a teddy bear.
Clearly Tony’s going to be the one who spoils her. Clint can see it coming. Can’t bring himself to make Tony stop.
“We need to talk, Barton,” Tony says, blunt, and sort of pushes the bear at him. Clint blinks, tries to point out he’s short free hands. If Tony’s not using nicknames, he must think it’s serious but for once, he doesn’t look angry or scared or dickish; Clint steps aside to let him in.
“What’s up?” Clint asks as Tony moves in, looks around like he’s charting the changes Clint’s made to his quarters to accommodate Flip.
“It’s Banner,” Tony says, glancing back at him significantly, and Clint doesn’t even question it, just says, “Let me change my shirt?”
He’d put Flip in her car seat carrier deal while he does because he’ll need his arms free but Tony’s watching, looking like he wants things he’s not sure how to ask for, and Clint lifts his chin instead. “Here, want to take her for a minute?”
It’s not really a question. He’s pretty sure Tony wouldn’t say no anyway. The stuffed bear falls to Tony’s feet fast enough to support it, at least, though the mug’s been set securely aside.
Tony looks good holding her, that tension bleeding out of him as the seconds pass without incident. She’s so tiny, Clint figures he can see why the big guys around him worry she’ll be delicate, too, but as far as Clint’s concerned, they’re all worrying about nothing. She means enough to each of them that their strength tempers instinctively; they’re all far too aware of her while she’s around to forget and somehow hurt her.
He’s had a crash course in that, though, had to get over himself those first sleepless nights. Everyone else, Dummy included, is working behind the curve.
Clint listens for trouble from the other room while he’s tugging a clean shirt over his head and when he heads back for whatever serious business conversation Tony wants to have, he’s not surprised to find the pair of them standing pretty much the way he’d left them.
Clint doesn’t have the heart to take her back.
“So what’s up with Banner?” Clint asks when he’s settled himself in the overstuffed chair by his couch. Tony lowers himself gently, carefully down on the couch, looks relieved when he manages to sit down without disturbing her. Clint probably should have mentioned she can be pretty hard to disturb when she’s cuddling, so long as she feels safe.
“He been around here much?”
Clint doesn’t have to think about it, just shakes his head. “Once or twice lately. Not for long.”
“You scare him off, Katniss?”
“Think we might’ve, yeah.”
Tony snorts. “And you’re all right with that?”
“It is what it is.” Clint lifts a shoulder, tries to shrug it off. Bruce isn’t going anywhere, neither of them are; Clint has time to let things work out however they’re going to and no real energy to put into trying to change Bruce’s mind. It’s not good or anything, definitely not what Clint wants, but even having Dummy around to lend a shiny metal claw isn’t doing much more than giving Clint time to sleep and maybe shower.
It’s certainly not giving Clint time to run Bruce and his issues down the way he wants.
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard this week and Pep made me go to two board meetings and deal with engineering interns.”
“Just leave it alone, Stark,” Clint hears himself say, flat and utterly unamused, and he knows when he says it that Tony won’t, Tony can’t, that’s just not how Tony’s built.
Still, a guy can hope.
So when Tony draws himself up to his full height and narrows his eyes, the only real surprise is just how malevolent he looks. If Clint were still writing accurate, informative reports for Fury, there’s no way Tony wouldn’t be on some sort of future supervillains list already.
“He’s pouting. He’s pining. There is moping in my lab. I don’t care how you fix it, just get it done. Don’t make me fix it for you.”
And much as Clint wants to blow Tony off, he can’t.
::
Since subtle’s not really working for him and the slow and steady thing’s blown up so spectacularly, Clint figures it might be time to get obvious. Maybe Tony Stark levels of obvious, because while Clint would prefer not to make a complete asshole of himself here, it’s not like he doesn’t know how to make a scene.
Time for Luke to get his Chewie, he thinks; the only question left is: How?
::
Cornering Bruce while Flip’s being impossibly adorable isn’t all that hard. Clint invites Bruce over for what probably sounds like adult time, makes a point of giving Bruce the impression Flip will be with Dummy and thus safe from whatever anxiety-riddled bullshit Bruce has cooked up to convince himself he shouldn’t be around her.
Like he’s not her other Uncle, one of the voices she’s known the longest. Jesus.
::
“She’s so small,” Bruce says, hovering over her, fingers poised as though he means to touch. Clint looks up at him, tremendously amused. Flip’s on her back in the middle of Clint’s bed, tiny limbs waving restlessly as she looks around with that big-eyed curiosity of hers, and Clint’s supposed to be strapping on the Snugli thing but honestly, he gets distracted just watching her sometimes.
“Not that small anymore,” Clint says, feels like an expert in babies now or something because he can honestly say she’s getting bigger on him every day, growing up and heading towards being mobile. She’s in the six-month clothes now, needs the length, and he feels slightly less oversized and clumsy when he puts her tiny socks on her now. “You got urgent plans for science today, Brown Eyes?”
Bruce blinks at him, owlish and sheepish. It’s so fucking adorable, Clint’s not sure it should be his life but whatever, somehow it is, and he’s not stupid enough not to hold on tight to it as long as he can.
“Well, actually, I-” Bruce starts, obviously talking himself out of it, because if Bruce really had a pressing engagement, he’d have just said so. Bruce only gets reluctant about science when he’s using it as avoidance.
“Because we’re going to the park for a while and maybe Times Square if somebody’s good. Aren’t we, Flip?” Clint sneaks a finger down to brush the back of her hand. She’s so smart already, got such quick reflexes; her fingers are grasping, clutching at nothing instinctively. “Maybe even F.A.O. Schwartz if we’ve got time.”
Bruce is frowning when Clint looks back up at him, soft and bemused. “The park and the toy store I get, though I think Pepper’s going to hurt you if you bring home anything else this month. You know how Tony gets. Times Square, though?”
“She likes the lights.” Clint shrugs. Babies like lights and bright colors, he read that somewhere in his baby books, and Flip’s a born-and-bred New Yorker, not fussed by noise or crowds. “So, how about it? You up for a field trip, Doc?”
And Clint knows it’s cheating to give Bruce the puppy eyes, to slip Bruce’s finger down for Flip to grasp, but whatever, Clint cheats and Clint wins.
“You, uh, you don’t think that’s a bad idea?”
He means the Other Guy. What Clint wants to say is that they’re going to have to deal with it sometime, Bruce can’t hide that side of himself forever, but he’s pretty sure Bruce won’t take that well. Instead Clint lays a hand over the small one Flip’s got curled around Bruce’s finger, angles himself up to nuzzle against Bruce’s jaw lightly.
“I really don’t.”
And while Bruce is thinking that through, Clint makes the nuzzle a kiss, touches Bruce’s stubbly jaw with his mouth and thinks this is as good as life gets.
“Okay then,” Bruce decides, his thumb rubbing idly over Flip’s little hand. “Okay then, just the park.”
And because that’s as good as Clint’s going to get this close to the lab, Clint pretends to believe it.
::
Getting Flip in and out of the Snugli without taking it off is a bitch, Clint knows this from experience, and one of the many benefits of having her strapped to Clint really should be that she doesn’t need to leave for any of the things they do at the park regularly.
No, not even the baby swings. Clint avoids those completely with her, keeps a hand on her belly to soothe her when she gets excited. Flip’s too young for teeth or standing up on her own still but she packs a decent wallop when she gets going. It’s clear as shit to Clint who her family is.
Bruce likes the walk, the air of the city and the way the world seems to melt away once they’re crossing the park lawn. They aren’t holding hands or anything because people are still assholes sometimes but they walk shoulder-to-shoulder, let their hips and elbows and shoulders brush as they move.
It’s awesome. Clint’s life needs more moments like this, for sure.
It’s mid-morning on a weekday and the park Clint and Flip like best doesn’t draw much of a tourist crowd, so they don’t have to wait long before they’ve got a pair of empty swings side-by-side.
Bruce gives Clint an odd look when Clint skips the baby swings, heads straight for the black strap of rubber there for the bigger kids.
“Isn’t she a bit young for those?” Bruce asks as Clint settles himself down on something roughly sized for 12-year-olds.
“Nah,” Clint dismisses, tipping his head towards the other free one, giving Bruce a look until he settles, too. It’s simple enough to urge his swing into rocking, letting his feet drag so he won’t build momentum too fast, and Clint wraps an arm in the swing’s chain to anchor himself, keeps a hand on Flip’s Snugli so she’ll feel secure. “See?” Clint says, glancing over at Bruce, ducking his head close to hers so it’ll come from both of them. “She loves it. Flip’s a born flier, aren’t you, baby?”
She laughs, bobbles a fist and kicks out in that way Clint just knows is happy baby.
Bruce looks soft. Achingly sweet, incredibly fond. There’s a shy smile playing over his mouth, warmth and affection in his dark eyes, and he looks very much like he’s trying to restrain both so he won’t encourage Clint to misbehave.
As though there’s the slightest chance Clint’s going to do anything that might get her hurt.
“So what now?” Bruce asks, which Clint finds endearing.
“No mystery here, Brown Eyes. Now we swing.”
Bruce looks wary, still not quite convinced, but Clint figures he’ll leave it alone until Bruce puts an actual question to him. One of the things he’s learned about his scientist over the years is that sometimes, Bruce just needs to run unfamiliar things through his big, genius brain before he can trust that he understands them. It’s pissed Clint off a few times that Bruce has so much trouble trusting good things in his life - no problems at all processing the bad shit, ever, but few things seem to baffle him quite like simple human affection - but Clint can be patient, Clint knows how to wait.
It feels a bit like victory when Bruce starts swinging, too.
Flip really does love it on the swings, which is why Clint makes a point of hitting up the park when he gets a chance and why Clint’s already given some thought to how young’s too young to start teaching her tumbling, and for all her reserve when they’re just walking, she’s unabashedly enthusiastic about things she loves when she feels safe. He can’t swing too fast or too high yet without unsettling her but when his feet leave the ground for a moment, she waves her little fists and happy-baby-kicks like she’s trying to fly.
As gravity sucks them back down, Clint curls around her, making silly noises for her and holding her tight, laughing with her and pressing his cheek into her hair. It’s really, really easy to get caught up in her and he does, easing them just a little higher with the next lift, surprising another blurt of sound out of her and dragging his feet to burn off momentum again.
“You look good like that,” Bruce says, and Clint finds Bruce practically still beside him, just watching them both.
“You look pretty good yourself.” The sun’s hitting Bruce’s hair, doing pretty things to the lines and angles of his face, turning the smudges of sleeplessness around his eyes and the lab rat shade of his skin into something that looks almost healthy.
Bruce looks relaxed and quietly curious, which is pretty much the way Clint thinks Bruce should always look.
“Parenthood suits you.”
Clint’s okay with that thought but he’s not okay with the tinge of sadness to the words. He shrugs, rubs Flip’s belly as he slows them to a stop, lets them drift a little to keep her happy while he watches Bruce.
“Gonna tell me what’s put that look on your face, Brown Eyes? Or should I start guessing?” Bruce hesitates, contemplates a lie or some sort of denial Clint’s just going to ignore. To keep things light, to not wreck the moment any more than necessary, Clint tries, “Because, you know, if I’m guessing, I’m starting with monkeys.”
Bruce smiles thinly, doesn’t really mean it. “You’re a good father.”
Clint shrugs again, ducks credit he can’t really claim. “Mostly, I lucked out with the kid but it’s not like I’m short stunning examples of what not to do.”
Bruce gets that, but Bruce would: from what Clint’s heard of it, Bruce’s dad was the same sort of shithead Clint’s was, every bit as violent and every bit as drunk. It wasn’t us, he wants to say, it was absolutely them, but that’s not really a conversation they should be having in the park.
Still, Bruce nods vaguely and looks away. “You ever want one of your own?”
Ah, there it is, the mental minefield Clint’s walking. “I’ve got one,” he says, as evenly as he can. “Pretty freaking awesome one, at that. Can’t say I ever thought about it much until I had to but I don’t regret it, either, if that’s what you’re asking.” It’s not, not really, but Clint needs to be sure here before he soldiers on. “You ever think about it, Brown Eyes?”
But he knows. Bruce wants this, he’s just holding himself back from it for reasons Clint isn’t quite sure how to combat effectively.
“Yeah,” Bruce says, voice a little thick, memory or emotion or both. “Before...A long time ago. It seemed nice.”
Bruce’s brittle little smile should break Clint’s heart but right now, it’s just encouraging. “It is pretty awesome,” Clint confirms. “Not sure nice is the word for it but yeah, it’s good.”
“That’s good,” Bruce says, impossibly mildly. “That’s nice. You should have that.” Bruce’s gaze dips to Flip pointedly. “You both should.”
“You, too,” Clint counters. “If you want it. If you want us. We don’t have to be a package deal if that’s not what you’re looking for but if it is, man, we can be.”
“Clint,” Bruce says, roughly; he looks devastated, and Clint can’t be sure yet if that’s good or bad.
Flip squirms again; Clint gives her his finger to clutch and lets their swing drift, wishes their swings were close enough to let him touch Bruce, maybe hold his hand to thumb his mouth, give him some sort of physical affection so Bruce won’t get lost in his own head.
“Hey,” someone says, a stick of a kid with a sort of scrappy earnestness to him Clint recognizes. “You two gonna swing or what?”
“What,” Clint decides, slipping off his swing and pulling Bruce from his, snapping a quick and jaunty salute at the kid as he leads Bruce away.
Clint doesn’t stop walking until they’ve found themselves a nook of trees and bushes, enough privacy that he can turn on Bruce and do something about that quiet thoughtfulness that can’t be Bruce thinking good things about himself.
“You gave in pretty easily back there,” Bruce says, watching Clint through his lashes.
“Places to be, scientists to distract,” Clint dismisses. “Whatever you’re thinking right now, please don’t. Because we are having a moment here, I think, and I’m pretty sure it’s a good one, and you look like you want to brood right through it.”
“I’m thinking I shouldn’t be around kids. I’m not…reliable.”
Clint snorts. “You think I am?”
Bruce stills like prey, wise-eyed and cautious. He looks afraid to move and so, so uncertain that Clint has to force himself relaxed for everybody’s sake; Flip’s too good at picking up Clint’s tension at times and the last thing Clint wants now is a tiny distraction.
“You know what I did, Bruce. You know what I do. When I’m not here, hanging out in Stark Tower playing SuperNanny, you know what I am. You think you’re unreliable? I could kill you four ways with Flip’s Snugli -- no, shut up, I’d come close -- and it wouldn’t even be the worst thing I’d done. You think you’re too dangerous to be around her? Then so am I. Hell, so are all of us, Stark included, and most of us haven’t put nearly as much effort into keeping our control.”
Bruce shakes his head and looks away, smiling bittersweet. “I’m not that controlled, Clint, trust me.”
Stupid bastard probably doesn’t even realize what he’s said. Clint wants to melt right into him, drag his mouth up Bruce’s jaw and say the rest of this with touch. If he didn’t have Flip strapped to him, he probably would.
He does, though, so he can’t. All he can do is look.
“Dummy almost exploded her putting on a diaper. Tony turned her fucking canister off. Nat can’t even look at her and I take her to a shooting range and you’re worried about Hulk?” Clint cannot possibly convey how ridiculous that is without showing Bruce security footage but he tries. “You know, when I say I want you in her life, I don’t just mean Brown Eyes the Scientist. Both of you, Bruce. All of you. I want all of you there. If you want to be. Just--” and he has to cup Bruce’s face then, has to step close and angle Flip carefully between them so she’ll have room to move, and because he holds Bruce’s gaze while he does, Bruce just stands still and lets him. Fuck, the trust Bruce puts in him is incredible, all the more amazing for his persistent lack of trust in himself. “Just don’t stay away unless you want to, Brown Eyes. There is no part of you I wouldn’t trust with my kid.”
“And if the Other Guy’s not good with babies?”
Clint can’t help the laughter bubbling; Bruce is wary, yeah, but he looks like he wants to believe. “I think Hulk’s more scared he’ll hurt her than you are, actually. He freaks the fuck out until I promise him she’s safe. But when she’s bigger, he wants to watch movies with her and show her Dora the Explorer and have tea parties.”
Bruce’s brow furrows. “Tea parties?” he repeats flatly.
“I know, right?” Clint grins. Feels like if that’s the part Bruce is questioning, Clint might just be making progress. “He says play but you know Tony’s going to turn her into a little princess by the time she’s walking and you’ve convinced Hulk tea is amazing, and maybe you don’t see him when he’s not all Smash-tastic but yeah, trust me, by the time Flip’s in school, Hulk’ll be a tiara-wearing tea party regular, for sure.”
“Tea parties,” Bruce says again, sounds like it’s almost parsing, and then, “Tiaras?” like he’s pondering indignation on Hulk’s behalf, and Clint sweeps over Bruce’s cheekbone with his thumb.
Clint pitches his voice conspiratorially. “Kinda looking forward to it, actually.”
Bruce’s hand hovers over the back of Flip’s Snugli, a touch he still won’t let himself have, but it’s more than enough for Clint. He’s not the only one picturing Big Green in a tiara, and he’s not the only one who thinks it’s good.
So maybe it’s not fair to hit Bruce hard when he’s got his guard down but, well, Clint’s in this thing to win. Fair doesn’t really factor into it. “You want to know how I know you won’t hurt her, Banner? Because you’re so fucking terrified you will.”
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