Clint woke up bleary-eyed and confused. He was face down against his pillows, and he could have sworn there was someone else in his bed before. He heaved himself up from the mattress, glancing around his small room. Nothing. Had there really been someone?

Yes. Bruce.

Clint crammed his eyes closed tightly as he remembered the night before and all of it's dream-like qualities. It hadn't really been a dream, had it? Clint opened his eyes and glanced around yet again. The only clothes on his floor were his own. He rolled over and stood up, walking over to the small mirror nailed next to his dressed. He inspected himself. He was stripped down to his boxers, and not only that, but he was also dotted with red splotches. He ran his fingers over a rather dark one on his neck and found it painless. His cheeks flushed as he realized Bruce had actually left love-bites on him.

Clint's sheepishness was suddenly replaced by anger as he realized Bruce had left him alone during the night. What had Bruce even been after? Was it sex, and when Clint wasn't ready to give that up, Bruce just left? Clint tried convincing himself it wouldn't be like Bruce to do something of the sort, but he still found himself angry. He turned away from the mirror and grabbed a gray t-shirt from the floor, pulling it over himself before leaving his room and crossing the hallway to the bathroom.

After brushing his teeth and shaving his stubble, Clint heard a soft humming. He was suddenly on edge as he opened the bathroom door and peered down the hallway. There was someone in the kitchen. Clint quietly made his way down to the end of the hallway only to bump into the table with his answering machine on it. It startled him more than the person in the kitchen, and Clint was preoccupied with putting the machine back on the table when said person spoke.

"Look who's awake."

Clint's head shot up. Standing in his kitchen was Bruce, dressed in the clothes he had worn the night before and wearing the apron that had been buried in Clint's closet. Clint was baffled. Hadn't Bruce abandoned him?

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Bruce observed, somewhat jokingly before turning back to the stove. Clint dared to move closer. Was he cooking? "I hope you like eggs and semi-burnt toast," Bruce mumbled sheepishly, only confirming what Clint had assumed.

"I thought you had left," Clint finally said, his voice tense. He stood against the small counter-top bar that separated the "dining room" from the actual kitchen.

"No, no. What, do you really want me to-" Bruce cut himself off when he glanced and saw Clint's expression. He seemed hurt. Bruce set down the pan and turned around completely. "I wouldn't do that," he said, almost shocked that Clint had thought he would.

The silence was tense for a few moments, until Bruce maneuvered around the counter. He pulled Clint tightly to his chest before pressing a warm, passionate kiss to his lips. Clint let it happen, practically melting in Bruce's arms. Slowly his hands made their way up Bruce's chest and around his neck, ignoring the fact he was wearing an apron.

"You're going to burn the eggs, too," Clint mumbled against Bruce's lips after the kiss continued for a few more moments. Bruce pulled back, grinning and pulling away. He returned to the stove, but Clint followed him. He managed to wedge himself between Bruce and the stove, wanting to stay in close contact with the man. He let his arms wrap back around Bruce's shoulders.

"Good morning," Clint whispered softly, kissing Bruce this time. Bruce returned the kiss momentarily before pulling away.

"Go butter the toast. You worry me, being this close to the stove," Bruce said, giving Clint a sly smile before motioning him away. Clint listened, pulling a tub of butter from his refrigerator and seeking out the charcoal-colored toast on the counter.

"I think it might need some jelly, too," Clint said, observing how burnt the toast really was. "Or just, you know, new toast," he added, glancing over at Bruce. Bruce chuckled.

"Whatever you want, little bird," Bruce said, starting to hum after doing so. Clint smiled as he noted the pet name and a warm feeling spread over him. Bruce hadn't left, and better yet, it seemed as though Bruce was going to stay.

There was truth in the fact Clint had only recently put out the fire of passion he had felt for Natasha, and it had left him emotionally and romantically weak, but even so, he managed to navigate his way through the wreckage and aftermath straight into the arms of someone who was willing to love him unconditionally, and that was really all Clint could have asked for.

In retrospect, the "fire of passion" he had felt for Natasha was but a feeble flame flickering in a breeze compared to his newly found passion for Bruce. It gave him faith and left him feeling warm and cared for, and in the end, he was happier with Bruce than he could have hoped to be with Natasha.

Author's note: Well, that's it. This is the end to the rather long story I was prompted to do. I guess I really dragged out the prompt, looking back on it now, but it was so much fun to write. I hope the ending isn't a disappointment for anyone. It surely isn't the last Hulkeye story I'll ever write, I guarantee that much.

I've already got the idea for another Hulkeye story, actually. A little one-shot piece, which I'm going to title "Sing Louder, Little Bird". I need to feed the monster in my which is demanding some kinks and voyeurism.

I've also got a prompt for a short Christmas themed story with Steve/Tony, if anyone will be interested in reading that. Aside from my one-shot plans, however, I don't think I will be starting another multi-chapter story for awhile. It really took a lot out of me, but all the follows, favourites and reviews really helped keep me going.

-Much love, E.