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Bruce has been struggling. After the experiement with Tony that went wrong, Bruce wasn't feeling very good. The serum hadn't completely worn off, and it made him nauseated. Of course, he would be dead if not for teh fact that Hulk burned off most of the toxins. Bruce being Bruce, he almost wished Hulk hadn't done that. He sits at the edge of the water in the sand. He's crosslegged, and he's trying to meditate while he wonders if tehre is a way to bring Hulk around just eneough to burn off the rest of the nastiness. Maybe he just needs to mediate.
There he is, in a sweatshirt, in the breeze, listening to the gentle shushing of the waves and the occasional seagull. Beside him is a backpack and a thermos.
It sounds like Bruce needs a nice, calm, cool afternoon of peaceful meditation. Just the soft sound of the waves lapping rhythmically against the shore; the seagulls squawking in the distance; the whisper of the wind rustling through the nearby trees; the rush of water soaking in to tickle Bruce's toes in the sand; the staccato beep of an electronic device off kilter.
Wait, what was that last one?
The harsh sound of beeping repetatively plunks along the beach, nearing Bruce like the ticking of a slightly off-weighted metronome.
It's Clint, much more peaceful than usual, actually, the blond is simply walking down the beach, not being chased by anyone for once, though he's wearing a butterfly bandage over the bridge of his nose. Dressed in a sweater and jeans while the autumn weather rolls in, he's idly meandering along the sand with a metal detector, sweeping the sand. The world hasn't yet been taken over by the hobby, but the buzz (hah) is just starting up. Who the hell knows where Clint got his hands on one? Probably snooping in Steve's closet or something—he seems like he'd be into it, right? It's the most boring hobby in the world, right next to his stamp collection.
The beeping becomes quicker, like a heart monitor, while it nears Bruce, leading Clint in his direction.
Bruce's eyes flip open at the sound of the beeps. He sees the man approaching and frowns slightly, though he is relieved that Clint isn't coming with a geiger counter. New York. It's so busy. So many people. Bruce reminded himself why he was here again. He takes a breath and reminds himself as well that the beach is public property and that the blond man with metal detector has as much right to be there as Bruce. When the man gets close enough, he looks up, "Good afternoon," he says from his seat. "Are you finding anything good?"
Clint wanders around the beach, eyeballing the guy sitting in the sand when the wand sweeps in that direction with a high pitched beeping. Rather than immediately disrupt Bruce (aside from the annoying sound), Clint hovers uncomfortably, beeping all around him on all sides before that query. "Hey. Afternoon." Hidden by a pair of mirrored sunglasses, Clint glances around to confirm that yes, yes it's still afternoon. Right. "Eh, a couple buttons, a broken watch band and 14 cents." Hovering the wide disk in Bruce's direction, the persistent beep sounds, Clint shifts on his feet, free hand shoving into his pocket. "So…enjoying the, uh, sand?"
Bruce arches an eyebrow behind his thick nerdy glasses. "Don't spend it all in one place?!" He smiles. "I was meditating." Past tense. "I am enjoing the sand, though, yes. " As the metal detector insists on making beeping sounds, he asks. Should I move over. Am I sitting on World War Two Ordinance buried under the sand?" He reaches for his thermos. A nice metal and glass thermos that has mint tea in it. It's cool on the beach so Bruce pops the top to poor himself some tea.
Clint chuffs on a laugh, peering down at the nerdy fellow. "Yeah, sure. I'll hope right down to wallstreet and invest my fortune of findings." His humor as dry as the sand further up the beach. "Meditating? You don't look like a hippy." A blond eyebrow pops up over his sunglasses, flashing a grin straight down at Bruce, smooth and generally harmless if sort of insulting.
"Well, if you wouldn't min—" Clint drops his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, fixing his cloudy blue gaze on the thermos as Bruce pours himself a nice soothing cup of tea. Either unaware of 'personal space' or some other drastic malformation of his personality, Clint slowly swings his metal detector over to Bruce's thermos while he pours. The thing goes nuts, naturally.
Bruce stops and looks up at Clint slowly over the top of his glasses. Clearly this man doesn't understand introverts. "I'm not a hippy. A lot of people meditate. It's becoming more popular. It's good for stress." Like the kind he's feeling now. "You seem to have detected my thermos. Would you like some? Mint tea," he asks as the metal detector identifies his thermos as metal. "Do you really want me to move? I doubt there is anything under neath me." Never the less, he shifts to one side and wonders off hand if the young man is going to rob him, and he's just playing the intrusive sort. He wets his lips nervously. "There's I've moved over."
With a disappointed lidding of his eyes, Clint exchanges an exhausted look with the peace-seeking Bruce. Sighs. Then turns off the metal detector with a click and defeated thunk to the sand, scrubbing a hand through his hair and along the back of his neck. Bruce moves over and Clint waves away the gesture with a shake of his head, "Yeahnothanks, but I'm pretty sure you're not sitting on an old military tank or something, man. 14 cents and a can of tea." Furthering the feeling of having no sense of how introverts work, Clint drops the metal detector, takes off his shoes (without socks?) and drops down next to Bruce like he's known the guy for years. "Stress? You're sitting on a beach, what's there to be stressed about?"
Bruce pours the tea and offers the cup to Clint. He's decided that the guy probably isn't a robber. "It's like playing the lottery that…metal detecting, I mean. How long have you been doing it? I wouldn't quite your day job." He looks out at the ocean for a moment, when Clint asks the question. "I … I'm stressed about a lot of things. I don't think you'd understand. " Then he flashes a smile. "You're right, though. The beach helps. Getting some quiet time alone, helps."
The offered up cup is palmed and given a speculative look over the rim of mirrored glasses, continuously glancing over at Bruce while he talks. "Just a couple hours today. Or do you mean overall? I just found the thing, but yeah… Yeah, I don't really expect to find a whole lot." Conversation on his end stilted slightly with short punctuated sentences and a slightly quickfire manner. "But you never know. Could get lucky." Clint chuckles under his breath, sniffing the mint tea a couple times. "Luck isn't really my bag." Taking a testing sip, he pulls a face, and tries it again, experimentally. "Don't think I'd understand? Man, you're in New York City, you never know who you're running into." Another sip and another face, Clint nudges Bruce's arm with his elbow, just a nudge. "Mm, last week I sat down and had a drink with a guy who throws ice."
At the nudge, Bruce leans away a little. He takes a drink of teh tea from th emouth of the thermos, since he gave the cup to Clint. "I suppose it could be a fun hobby, but yes. Luck will play a big part. You should come here when the tide is coming in. You might find things that have washed up." He takes another sip and asks, "Oh? Throws ice? Not from a glass, I imagine…" He totally avoids talking about himself as he tries to steer the conversation away. "Was this a mutant? I have met a couple of mutants. They have a hard situation, I understand."
Clint doesn't seem to notice at all when Bruce leans away from him, which means at the very least that he's not offended, so that's good. Still experimentally sipping at the cup, he hasn't thrown it back at Bruce, but like a kid who can't decide what he thinks about it, there's continuous sips. "Hah, good point. No, I know lots of drunks who throw ice around, and other things…but nah. Not like that." A crooked smile turned sidelong toward Bruce. "Yeah, he was one of them. Or, you know, some other kind of altered human type. Space human, sea human—basically anywhere it can come out of, we do. Kinda cool when you think about it." He shrugs a shoulder. "Mutants gotta rough rub of it. Always gonna be those squares that got their belts on a couple notches too tight. You're not one of them, are ya? Meditating down on the beach, you don't really seem the kind, but they're not part of your, uh, 'stress', are they? You got a kid who suddenly grew scales or something, man?"
Bruce shakes his head. "No. I'm not one of them, and I don't have any children." He shrugs as he sits there on the beach. "They have their own stress. They don't have any extra to spare to give any stress." He smiles. "Interesting. He creates ice? He must draw the water molecules frm the air. I wonder if he could do it in a vaccuum…" His science-y nerdiness pokes through. Bruce takes another sip. He looks back at the man and purses his lips as he becomes a little paranoid. "You don't know who I am, do you?"
Science hypothesizing happens and Clint shrugs a shoulder, finishing up his cap-cup of tea and still not sure what to think of the minty substance, Clint hands it back over to Bruce, arching a brow. "Should I?" The mirrored finish on his sunglasses gives Bruce a couple big brown-eyed Bruces to stare right back at him, upside down. "Well, you're not a Stark or a Strange. Are you Norman Rockwell's illegitimate kid?"
He laughs a little with relief. "No you shouldn't. I was just…' afraid someone figured out who he is. "I work for Stark at the moment. I'm a scientist. I work in the lab there." The tea is good, but he makes a little face as he fights some more nausea. "Does Normal Rockwell have illegitimate kids?" He looks at Clint again, but those stupid sunglasses just show a nervous wimpy guy. He looks at the ocean as his gut lurches. He hides it, but it's painful. An observant fellow might see it. "Name's Bruce," he murmurs. "I didn't catch yours." He takes back the cup and pours the remains of the tea out in the sand. "More of a coffee guy?"
If Clint has any clue who Bruce is, he's a great actor of obliviousness. "Oh yeah, you work for the guy? So you're some kind of smart alecky guy who wonders about ice powers in a vacuum." Clint smiles crookedly, bending both his knees up in order to wrap his purple-sweater clad arms around them. "I don't know if he does or not, but I figured I'd ask, just in case you were. Never know unless you ask." One hand reaches over, offering it out in greeting. "Clint. Good to meet you, Bruce." An amused quirk of his lips when the rest of the tea's dumped out, spreading into a wide, closed-lipped smile. "Coffee is my Columbian mistress; I can't get up in the morning without her."
Bruce says, "Next time I'll bring coffee," murmurs Bruce as though there will be a next time. He reaches out to shake Clint's hand. "Nice to meet you. I work for Stark. I'm not a smark alek. At least I don't think so. Smart, maybe?" He squints at Clint and puts his hand on his stomach. "I'm sorry. COuld you take your glasses off. It's kind of bothering me not to see who I'm looking at." He looks back at the ocean and feels more queasy. He can almost feel Hulk wanting out. "I don't drink a lot of coffee."
"Next time?" Clint latches right on to that with a wry smile over to Bruce. "You're a funny guy, Bruce." At ease in his place in the world, oblivious to the green warhead wrapped in anxiety he's sitting next to, Clint wraps his arms around his knees again. "You ever meet the guy or you just work for him?"
The oddity of the request about his glasses garners a little bit of silence from Clint, heavy and kind of poignant. Noting the hand on Bruce's stomach, another short chuff of a laugh is emitted and Clint shoves his glasses up into his hair. Nothing weird apparent. Just a few laugh lines and normal gray-blue eyes, like the sky over the sea before it storms. "The upside down portrait deal making you a little anxious, man? You really are kinda wound up aren't you? No wonder you don't like coffee."
The quiet man shrugs, "Yeah…sorry. I'm not feeling that great and me bobbing upside down in front of me wasn't helping…" He notices the blue eyes and thinks about how clever they seem before he winces again. "Maybe you should go. I…I don't want ….don't worry. It's not catching." His hands shake around the thermos, splashing it inside the metal tube. "Yeah…maybe you should go,"
Casual warmth replaced by casual concern, Clint's eyebrows dip down while Bruce's anxiety jumps like a needle on an echocardiogram. His gaze bouncing back and forth, eyeing Bruce. "Yeah…you don't really look all that good. You okay, big guy?" Leaning away, but still sitting, Clint unfolds his arms from around his legs. "You're not looking that great, do you need to go somewhere? You need me to getcha a cab?"
Bruce doubles over and the thermos drops from his hands and spills all over the sand. He's lost his battle. "No. No. I'm fine. Just…it'll pass. Just …leave…please." Bruce's eyes take ona strange look and the tendons in his neck bulge. "Please just leave. I don't want you to get hurt!" THere is a soft ripping sound as the seams in his shirt start to give way. He thought this might happen, but he was alone on purpose…
The guy he's been talking to doubles over and Clint jumps up a little bit, taking a knee next to Bruce. A guy doubles over like that and Clint isn't just going to run off. "Whoa! Nah, we gotta get you to a hospital if you're in that much—WHOA!" Bruce's muscles start bulging and /tearing/ through his clothes and the archer jumps back slightly. Eyes go wide for a moment of surprise, then training and /stupid/ kicks in and Clint sticks near Bruce. "Just…whoa. How about…deep breathing? Meditate or…something!"
"Please go…I…" The shirt rips. The baggy pants tighten, then rip to his knees. His shoes pop off, and Bruce looks down. There is a pause. Massive green hands ball into fists. Hulk stands upright with a growl. Now, Clint doesn't know Hulk yet, so he can't know to distinguish one growl from another very easily, at least. This growl is tinged with pain. He grows like a big green mountain in front of Clint and greem eyes lock with Clint's . He grimaces, his big square teeth bared at the archer. He IS breathing, actually. Rather deeply. It doesn't seem to be working. However, he hasn't bitten Clint in two, so there's that.
.~{:--------------:}~.
Clint quickly gets to his feet, cautiously backing up as Bruce's skin changes colors, his eyes going wide. "Okay, so, it's safe to say you weren't stung by a bee, and this is just a /really/ bad allergic reaction?" Hulk stands upright and Clint's eyes go wide. "Oh, wow. So, about that 'big guy' crack, I didn't think you'd take it so literally." Cautioned, Clint lingers near, at the ready, his attention taking in the big guy in front of him.
Hulk stands in front of Clint breathing heavily and looking down at the puny human with suspicion. His brow furrows, and he presses his hand against his stomach and roars. After another glare, he turns and sinks to a knee. Then on all fours, he throws up. Hulk barf can be prety nasty, but it's the contents of Bruce's stomach now, which is mostly just the tea. The ocean conveniently creeps up to wipe the beach clean. He sits back in the water and squints at Clint again.
The roar rumbles through the air, shaking the ground, and Clint withstands it, holding an arm up over his face to fend against the physical pressure of the roar. Still, he wavers on his feet, rocking backward and forward once it stops. "Oh, man…" Though Hulk doesn't seem aggressive toward him, so Clint, in all his rampant stupidity, peers closely. Only to jump backward when Hulk heaves up the contents of his stomach. "Whoa!" Wincing, the archer scrubs the back of his neck. "So I guess you're not feeling so hot, huh? Well, change of the weather, blah, blah, blah." Making awkward small talk, Clint squints back at Hulk. "Ralphing always makes me feel better afterwards. How ya doing now, man?"
Hulk frowns and stands, the water streaming from him. Hulk presses his stomach, and he does feel better. H eknows that he is keeping Bruce healthy through all this, but he's certainly not happy about it. He approaches Clint, each massive foot sinking into the sand. "WHO ARE YOU?" Hulk rumbles. "Are you Banner's friend?" He comes close enough for Clint to feel his hot breath. It doesn't sound like it's a good thing to be Banner's friend.
Clint slowly slides his hands into his pockets when Hulk stands up from the water, trying not to positively piss himself when his eyes travel up and up and up, chin tipping backwards to take in the full sight of the massive man. A couple of steps backward are far fewer than he /wants/ to take, but Clint holds strong. That's what you're supposed to do with bears, isn't it? Shit, Barton. What'd you do?
Clint turns his head to the side when Hulk gets in his face, holding his breath when he gets a whiff of it. "Whoa, man. First of all, I can feel your breath on my neck. Buy me dinner first." Another step backward and Clint's brows dip together. "Banner? Who the hell is Banner? No. I'm not his friend, never heard of the guy."
"You talk to much!" proclaims Hulk, looming over Clint. He wipes his mouth with the back of a big green hand, then reaches out to try to take the metal detector from Clint. He brings it to his face and gives it a sniff. Then he looks like he about to throw it in the water behind him. He pauses to look up into the sky to figure out where he is.
"Oh yeah," Clint murmurs as he wavers, swaying back a little as Hulk looms over him, eyes widening. "I've heard that before." Scrubbing the back of his neck while he tries to figure out what just happened to the nerd he was just sitting with. The metal detector picked up, "Hey, that's not actually mine, so could you—" Clint jumps and comes up short to try to grab the thing, he sighs with a bluster and frowns up at Hulk. "You look lost. You're in Long Island. Jones Beach."
Hulk doesn't throw the metal detector when he sees that Clint wants it. He does hold it just above the man's reach however, teasing him with it. "Long Island?" He curls his toes into the sand, making big divots. He narrows his eyes at Clint again, curious about the man that doesn't run away. He growls at him to see what effect that has.
Clint reaches an arm up high over his head when Hulk looks like he's going to give the metal detector back. He doesn't jump up to grab it, but he does strain a little too hard to make that teasing very evident and a little worth it when Hulk pulls it back. Stormy eyes lid at Hulk, unimpressed, and his arm falls. "Hah, hah, pick on the little guy. Yeah, Long Island. You know, next to New York?" Clint's stupid, but he's not completely insane, and still keeps a close eye on Hulk behind his bland cockiness. The growl makes his hands shake in his pockets a little bit, but Clint turns his head casually. "Yeah, again with feeling your breath on my neck, man." The archer turns back with a cock of his head to the side. "So, what's your bag? Big guy in the big apple. What's up?"
Hulk pulls back, surprised that Clint didn't run or shit his pants. He tosses the metal detector aside and turns and spits. He gives his stomach another rub before turning back to Clint. He takes a big finger and gives Clint a poke in the stomach. "New York has too many people." He turns his head to see what Clint's reaction is. Maybe this one can't be hurt. "Who are you? Hulk is thirsty," he adds.
Clint's anal sphincter has some serious constitution. But his bones are rattling down to his marrow, which is why he doesn't pull his hands out of his pockets again. Looking down at the metal detector as it's tossed down, he breathes a little easier knowing that, hey, at least he won't have to explain that. "Thanks." The poke in his stomach makes him stumble backwards and give an uncomfortable gurgle as he grunts and steadies himself, grabbing Hulk's index finger to steady himself. Trying to shove the finger away. "Hey. Rude. I'm Clint. Who the hell is 'Hulk'? Is that you? Well. You have that right." Shoving his hands back into his pockets, Clint squints up at Hulk. "So, what do you want to drink? You just yucked everthing you had up, so you're sick. You want tomato soup or something?"
"Water. Hulk wants water!" Clint grabbing his finger was unexpected. He's still not feeling well. Stupid Banner. But, he's getting through it. "Banner's sick. Hulk 's not sick. HULK IS THE STRONGEST THERE IS! " he explains to a Clint who will surely not understand. Then he shakes his hairy head and reaches out to pick Clint up. "Clint find some water!" Because even Hulk doesn't like the taste of Hulk barf.
Banner? So, Bruce. Okay. Clint puts that together and wrinkles his nose up while he endures that shouting. "Yeah, yeah, well, with muscles like that, you better be the strongest." Peering up at the guy again with a twitch of his brows together, trying to figure out what the hell just happened here. But it's all honestly way out of his league. That hand reaches up to grab him and Clint shouts. "Hey, whoa! Watch the merchandise!" Panic grips him as tightly as Hulk does, immediately trying to tug himself free. "Okay, okay, okay, we'll find you some water! Christ…"
Hulk has Clint in one hand, gripping him around the waist firmly, but not roughly. He pulls the man in front of him to look him in th eface without having to bend over. This human is interesting. "You're too slow. Where is water?" He starts lumbering along the beach, heading towards the civilization that he hates so much, but towards where he hopes there is water.
It's uncomfortable. It's damn uncomfortable. Being picked up like a child's toy, Clint low key panics a little bit, trying to pull himself out of Hulk's fist or loosen it with stretches of his legs. Clint's mouth goes dry and he swallows down harshly and tries to breathe around his panic, especially when Hulk pulls him up to his face for scrutiny. Clint frowns a little bit, fixing his face to seem more exasperated than afraid. "Well. This is immasculating. Okay, here, go that way. There's a public toilet building, there's water you can drink in there." Clint generally gestures down the beach and wriggles again. "This King Kong bit is uncomfortable."
Hulk scrutinizes Clint for a few moments longer. Yeah, this guy must just be nuts. Everyone else runs from Hulk. He doesn't like it, but he's used to it. This guy is so chill, he can feel Banner wanting to come back. That's not good. Not yet. Stupid Banner! That's got it. He growls again, thinking about stupid, puny Banner. But, without the benefit of Hulk's inner monologue, it just looks like he's growling at Clint again. Clint's words have him looking down the beach towards the toilets. The monster, having fixed his eyes on the goal, gently drops Clint to one side in the sand. Hulk lumbers quickly down th ebeach.
Oh yeah, he's heard that before.
Clint turns his head to the side slightly while Hulk grunts and groals again. Very hyper aware of the ridiculously strong hand around his waist, Clint takes in a deep breath and tries not to imagine things like tubes of toothpaste being squeezed out. "Hey, you okay, man? If you don't mind, this is kind of—oof!" Suddenly the enormous fingers relax and Clint drops to his feet and seamlessly rolls to the side, popping back onto his feet so Hulk doesn't bowl right through him. A cursory look at his stolen metal detector, Clint snatches it up by the rod and jogs after Hulk. Crazy. Yep.
Hulk books it along to the toilet. He looks to his side and…yep. The guy is still there. He speeds up a little and looks again to see if he's still there. When he gets to the toilets, he sees the water fountain in front and he goes to it. It's too low. It's too small. And it's too annoying. Hulk tries to put his finger on the button, and it doesn't work. He growls again and balls up his fists.
Clint slows down as Hulk reaches the public building, strolling up near at his own pace, peering curiously at the sort of hilarious attempt to be delicate at the water fountain. "Whoa, whoa, whoa Big Guy!" Watching Hulk's fist curl up, Clint jogs the rest of the way to the big green guy's side, waving emphatically up at him. "I got it, man." Clint pushes the button pretty simply and eyes the thin stream of water. "Huh. Yeah this isn't all that helpful, is it?"
Hulk glances at Clint, turning his big head to watch Clint push the button. Okay, he'll play along. He tries to get his head in there and sip the thin stream of water. It feels good, even that small sip. He feels tired. He sips some more. Dizzy. Oh, man… Hulk falls to his knees and places big palms on the ground. He cries out softly as the change begins.
Clint smiles crookedly as Hulk sticks his big face in the path of the water anyway, and he has to chuckle a little bit, pleased with the outcome. "Hey, it'll take a while, but that looks like it feels pretty good, huh Big Guy?" Happily sitting by to be Hulk's button pusher. The calm in the storm, Clint jumps when Hulk drops to his knees and the ground rumbles with the weight of it. Quickly leaning the metal detector against the wall, Clint stops holding the button down and reaches out to…well not so much 'catch' Hulk because there's no way that's happening, but his tiny hands fall on Hulk's shoulder. "Hey, you're not going to puke again, are ya?"
Before Clint's eyes and beneath his hands, a gasping Hulk turns slowly into a gasping Bruce. The muscles shift and shrink in unnatural ways and fade from toxic green to fishbelly white scientist skin. His hair wild, and his pants ripped, Brucee collapses on the ground like a puddle of a human, breathing heavily. He doesn't pass out this time. Overall, he actually feels better despite the flesh-rending transformation thing. He doesn't feel as sick to his stomach. His open eyes fall on Clint, "Oh thank God you're alive," he says breathlessly.
Shrinkage is a real problem that affects every man.
Clint grunts as he watches Bruce reappear, trying to pull the wormy scientist back up to he doesn't end up in some bent over, undignified pose by the water fountain. "Alive? Well, yeah, of course I'm alive." Clint scoffs as he leans over to try to get Bruce's around his shoulder and lift the guy up. "Though, you have some /serious/ issues, Bruce. Let's get you sitting down over here, huh?"
"Hmmm, yeah…" Bruce allows Clint to drag him around while he's trying to get his bearings. "I'm so sorry!" The scientist's face is awash with guilt and fear. "Did I hurt anybody?" He has to ask. He hates asking that question, and he always dies inside waiting for the answer. "I should go home…I…" He looks back at Clint. "You're the guy with the metal detector…" He tries to remember his name and can't. "I had some money in my backpack. I need a cab home." He's shaking under Clint's arm.
"Hurt anybody? Nah, man," Clint shakes his head, helping Bruce over to a bench further up the shoreline and sitting down next to him. "The big guy seemed pretty irritated, but mostly just at you, I'm guessing. He threw up all over, then made some bear-noises and asked for water. Nice guy, huge skin issues." Clint squints. "You…don't remember any of that, huh? That sounds annoying."
Bruce shakes his head and sits in the bench. "I don't remember it. I remember feeling in pain." He takes a hesitant breath and looks in Clint's eyes. "Don't call the police, please. I just need to get home. Please, just forget you saw this."
"The police?" Clints scoffs at the sheer preposterousness of that request. Re-securing his sunglasses in his hair, Clint rolls his eyes and tosses Bruce a wry smirk. "Yeah, if I need an old lady walked across the street or something, I'll call the police. This is a little out of their depth." Meeting that dark gaze with stormy blue, Clint seems to treat everything as pretty irreverant, but his attention is keenly on Bruce, watching him carefully. No fear, just worry. "Yeah, yeah sure. Let me go get your backpack and, hey, didn't you have glasses?" Clint gets to his feet and strips off his big purple sweater, pulling it straight off his back and handing it out to Bruce. It leaves Clint in a white undershirt, but he doesn't seem to mind. "And throw that on. You're really pale, man. Going to start blinding people." Sure. It has nothing to do with the sick guy getting worse.
Bruce lifts his hand to his face reflexively. "Yeah. I had glasses…" Maybe Clnt will actually have a good use for that metal detector. AT first he seems relieved by Clint's dismissal of the police, but then his mind goes to the next thing. "Or the military…" He takes the sweater and slips it on. He looks a little lost, but he likes the color. "Thanks…I'll pay you back. I'll give it back. " He gets up from the bench then, a little steadier. "It's a complicated thing," he says, answering the question that wasn't asked. "I'm trying to find a cure…" He will trail after Clint like a kid in his dad's sweater.
Clint smirks at the comment about the military. "I'd call you paranoid, but I see what you mean. Nah, man. I'm not like that." Casting a winning, if scampish smile in Bruce's direction, the idiot jogs off to grab the metal detector and pulls Bruce's backpack out of the sand. Digging around a little bit, a few sweeps of the detector and more digging, Clint finds the remaining pieces of Bruce's glasses, probably broken from the transformation, but, hey, he tried. The thermos snagged as well, Clint drops it all on the bench next to Bruce except for the glasses, shrugging helplessly as he hands those over last. "Sorry about that. I think I got all the pieces, though. Cure sounds like a good plan, man. And if you work for Stark, I gotta assume you're smart enough to do it. Hey, let's catch you that cab, huh? You look pooped."
Bruce sighs and looks at the glasses, "I have a spare at home," with tape around the nose piece, but the lenses are intact." Bruce picks up his backpack and packs everything into it he can find. He does look tired. On the brightside, his stomach ache is gone. "I hope I am smart enough. Thanks…what was your name again?"
Of course, Hulk thinks Banner is stupid for even trying the cure that made him sick in the first place.
Taking a step away from the bench, Clint slips his hands into his pockets, shrugging a broad shoulder at Bruce while he fumbles around in Clint's sweater. An easy smile settling on his face, the blond gives his name again. "Clint. Don't forget it this time, huh? Make yourself more of that leafy water stuff and feel better, man."
That said and Bruce squared away, Clint grins and winks at the square fellow and turns away with his metal detector in hand. "Take care of yourself, Bruce!" Calling back, Clint strolls back down the beach from the direction he came from.