This is just a fun little 1/2 edited romp i started and abandoned and started again over the last year. I might still adjust the ending at some point but for now, please enjoy!

You Bet

It was Saturday morning when, at last, the group decided to let Steve Rogers relive his childhood. It was mid-August, and the Yankees were playing against the St. Louis Cardinals. Rain was nowhere near the forecast and the five-day heat wave had let up enough for Tony to not insist on a private air conditioned box on center field. The air was crisp, the breeze relaxing, and the sky was clear. The smell of grass wafting from the stadium floor set the scene for the perfect day.

Convincing Bruce Banner to leave his creature comforts took time. Eventually, he caved to the typical Tony Stark bro-mance and agreed that, yes, it would be a tragedy to miss a chance to see daylight for once in five weeks. It was his suggestion to sit in the nose bleed section way out in right field beside a billboard professing the aid of Acuvue Contacts.

Clint Barton went willingly. He never missed the opportunity to watch the Yankees get clobbered, especially by the Cardinals on a twelve-game winning streak. He sat to Steve's left with his feet propped up on the back of the seat in front of him, and a hotdog parked, defenseless, in his grasp.

It may have been a beautiful day, and an even better team match up, but, despite that, the section the Avengers found themselves in was empty; Save for the four seats, dead center, occupied by Tony, Clint, Steve, and Bruce, no one was around.

Bruce couldn't be relied on to complain about the lack of fan fair. He hardly trusted himself outside of the Tower and, in so populated (and high profile) a location, he was terrified of doing something that he regretted. To him, there were many potential hazards; The most obvious of them would be getting hit in the face with a baseball. Then, there were flying bats, getting a beer thrown at him, getting stuck next to sticky children, being vomited on, not being able to find the exit, falling three stories onto the field and adding a whole new meaning to being "on the green". Countless deathtraps existed. Having a section all to themselves, and so far away, eliminated a vast majority of those fears.

Steve was enjoying himself, regardless of the poor view and the fact that the Yankees were ten down in the first four innings. He was sure his team could pull through in the end. So sure in fact, he was willing to put money on it.

"Ten bucks." Steve said, elbowing Clint in the side. "Ten bucks they win it."

Clint glanced over from the boiled pig meat he was shoving in his face. Without bothering to properly chew, he asked, "Seriously? Ten bucks?"

Steve pulled a ten out of his wallet and slapped it down on the arm rest.

Clint swallowed his food and pulled out his own wallet. He handed his food to Tony who refused to take it, so Clint placed it on Tony's leg instead.

"Ten bucks. Doesn't look like I have it, so let's call it a twenty." Clint pulled out the twenty and set it over Steve's ten. "Unless that's too rich for you, Capsicle."

"Oh, ok." Steve rifled through his wallet and pulled out a new bill. "Look at that, no twenty. Looks like I'll have to raise you to fifty, chicken legs."

Tony smiled, enjoying the view of the escalating war between Clint and Steve's wallets. All of the money they were betting with came straight out of their SHIELD retaining fees. So, technically, didn't that mean SHIELD was betting on the baseball game?

"What a surprise, no fifty," Clint dropped a hundred on top of Steve's new bill as if he was playing slap jack. "Hundred bucks, Captain Spangles."

"Hundred it is, Buzzard Butt!" Steve shot back.

Mutual interest in the game achieved, Clint returned to his hot dog and Steve stood up to cheer the Yankees into their win. As the only man cheering in a nearly empty section, it probably had the same impact as an ant attempting to start a world takeover. Tony reached between them and grabbed the stack of cash. He returned the lesser bills to their respective owners and slid the rest into his pocket. As a billionaire, the likelihood of him making off with their cash was virtually nil, so neither thought more of it.

"You want a piece, Bruce?" Clint asked. "Odds say it's a sure thing."

Bruce waved them off. "No thanks, I'm perfectly happy with my cash in my pocket."

"Are you answering for yourself and the Hulk?" Clint retorted with a grin.

"Tony?" Steve asked, returning to his seat after the cheer.

Tony grinned. "I only bet when I have paid to assure myself of the results."

Clint laughed. "Oh, nice line, Iron Pan. Where'd you dig that one up? I can't count how many times you walked out of a casino without a shirt."

"The only reason I ever walked out without a shirt is because the twenty five beautiful super models of Playboy calendar, years 2011 and 2012, took turns ripping it off of me. Occasionally, they did it simultaneously." Tony replied. "And when's the last time you had some action that didn't include being packed in the back of a little truck with a bunch of sweaty men in combat boots?"

Clint pointed a finger in his face. "That only happened once! And if I remember correctly, you were dressed as a woman at the time."

"Don't point at me. And that dress was very breathable! I want to dissuade you from making fun of my life choices."

"Let's just say it's a no." Steve interjected. Suddenly, he was out of his seat screaming like an idiot. Beside him, Clint was standing too. The Yankees hit a grand slam off the back field wall. The crowd, what crowd there was, cheered and boo-ed respectively as players leaped and screamed.

Bruce smiled, watching the antics. Nothing was going to make this game more fun than watching Clint and Steve tear each other apart over a hundred dollar bet. If he was going to have to sit there and watch them go at it, Bruce was going to need a little fortification and a stop at the closest restroom. He stood out of his seat and motioned to the others.

"I'm going for a drink. Want anything?" he asked.

Tony got up. "I'll go with you. I need a pit stop."

Steve and Clint ignored them. The game was just getting good and, with another Yankees slugger at bat with only a single out, it was too intense of a match to leave now. Tony and Banner climbed the stairs to the exit alone.

"Seems like Mr. Rogers and Clint Barf-Pants are enjoying themselves. What about you? In the mood to recreate the green monster in Yankee Stadium?" Tony asked.

Bruce flipped a smile. "No. Let me guess, you're disappointed."

"Actually . . . yes. Yes I am. You know, you should just let yourself go sometimes. Keeping all those emotions all pinned up must be killing your heart or something. Do you feel like talking about it? Because, I can definitely pay someone to listen. And there only like, I don't know, a five percent chance they won't record the conversation to use against you."

Bruce chuckled at the scenario. It may have seemed like a joke coming from Tony, but, like usual, he hit the nail on the head when it came to Bruce's general fears. After all, he wasn't one who liked to show emotion even before he turned into a massive green monster. The Other Guy may have been behaving during the New York attack, but that meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. He did what he wanted and it was hilariously obvious that no one, not even Thor, could check the Hulk's bad attitude.

"The day I listen to you about that is the day you are going to seriously regret it."

Tony shrugged. "Hey, I don't regret nearly being killed in that Helicarrior engine after Clint blew it up when he was all Loki-fied, so I don't think I'd regret this either."

They crested the top of the stairs and nodded a hello to the sole security guard checking tickets into the section. Though their side of the stadium was completely empty, for some inexplicable reason, the journey to the restroom was not. A sea of bodies pressed against the section entrance to the far left, and beside the small opening for Tony and Bruce to sneak through, their side as well was chuck full of random sweaty bodies.

"Um, you might want to duck." Tony mentioned to Bruce, pushing him through a connected walkway before they slid beneath a rope barrier behind a security guard.

Bruce ducked beneath the barrier but twisted back again to the guard. "Tony, was that Happy? Why's Happy here?"

"Tony? Tony who?" Stark replied. He pulled his Yankees cap down over his face and hunched his shoulders.

"Tony, what the-" Bruce felt someone grab him and pull him off to the left. Stark apparently had ducked around a column and yanked Bruce into a quiet corner. A set of sunglasses Bruce didn't remember Tony walking in with were now on his face.

"Uh, so yeah. This is a pretty interesting game apparently. Balls and goals and all that."

"You mean runs?" Bruce asked, heart dropping. He couldn't imagine what Tony was going to tell him.

"That's what I said, touch downs. Thing is, I don't do crowds."

"Stark, I find you at nightclubs every weekend—"

Tony pressed his hand over Banner's mouth and frantically looked around to find if they'd been overheard. Given that a sea of the Avengers-clad baseball enthusiasts were not immediately descending on them, he felt safe to continue to explain.

"I don't do stadium crowds. They're weird and there's beer guts and unwashed jerseys and painted people. It's weird, ok, it's weird. But the thing is, Pepper apparently needed me out of the house today."

Bruce's eyes narrowed. "Tony, are you about to tell me what I think you are?"

"And by 'out-of-the-house' I think she meant that I need to get you out...I mean it's been too long. You're like, growing mold and stuff now."

"Tony are you telling me that you bought out that entire section? The whole thing?"

"Technically, Stark Industries bought it out, but—"

"You ARE Stark Industries. You bought the whole thing?!"

"Apparently that raises flags for a few curious people."

"Tony, are all these people here to see us?"

Tony shrugged. "Maybe...not all of us. Maybe just, you know, me. And I think I mentioned about a speech or something. They have this seventh inning thing they do . . ."

Bruce put a hand over his forehead. He couldn't believe this was happening. He was not good at major publicity. In fact, most major publicity he received was negative and then some. The last mob that found out where he was got the unfortunate opportunity to kill him. They then realized that was harder to do than they thought. Now, the little things were making sense; the security guards, the barrier, Happy...and was that a guy painted green with a Hulk mask on?

"OK I think this is my worst nightmare." Bruce said.

Tony patted him on the back. "Ah come on, it could be worse."

"I don't see how." Bruce pulled away from Tony. He wanted to just go find a restroom and run back to their seats before someone recognized him. It wasn't difficult for the general populace to know exactly what the Avengers (even a non-Hulked Bruce Banner) looked like. Ever since Bruce started working at the Tower, the rumors flew. Old colleagues from his university days came forward and he was ousted within a week.

Bruce hadn't gone three feet away from the private little corner before he ran into a little boy perhaps ten years old. He was licking incessantly at a mint-chocolate chip ice cream cone. He had a Yankees ball cap on his head and a green and purple Hulk shirt covering down to his knees. The minute his small face met Banner's, a light switched on. His eyes grew big and a huge smile stretched out his mouth.

"I don't like mint but I got it cause its green and I like green cause I like you! Here you can have it!" the child handed the cone to Bruce without any reservation. "My name's Tommy, and you're my favorite. I gotta go back to my seat now. Nice to meet you!" He grabbed Bruce's hand, shook it, and ran off to catch up with his waiting family.

Tony appeared beside him. "Hey, where'd you find that?"

"I don't really know." Bruce replied.

"Come on, let's get to the restroom before someone recognizes us."

:(:):(:):

"One more run, Pigeon Poop, and that's it." Steve said cheerfully. He had his legs propped up on the front seat now, enjoying himself. Beside him, Clint was hollering his brains out, trying to inspire the St. Louis Cardinals to get off their heels and back in the game. The world might have looked down on them and thought they were watching the World Series. In a way, it was much more than that; this was a bet!

"Just you hang on a sec, Paisley Pants and watch the game. You're going to see something like you've never seen before."

Steve laughed. "Uh huh, that happens and I'll take on laundry duties for two weeks."

Clint looked at him. "Really? You take on my laundry for two weeks?"

"I would." Steve said.

"Something you've never seen before?" Clint said.

Steve nodded. "That's right. And son, I've been following baseball stats for longer than you've been alive. That bet's going to be a hard one to top!"

:(:):(:):

Bruce pressed his face against the wall outside the bathroom. He tapped his forehead slightly off the concrete, doing what he could to distract himself from the fact that his bladder was so full he felt like his back teeth were floating. The line for actually getting in to the bathroom was nearly fifty men long. All of those fifty men were in various degrees of intoxication, some increasingly so, and Bruce was stuck behind the entire long line of them. To make it worse, there was Tony standing right beside him in his makeshift disguise. He was annoying, jabbering, and doing everything he possibly could to get Bruce to lose his cool.

"I mean, it's ridiculous! You buy out an entire section, it only cost a few grand, and suddenly everyone just makes all these silly assumptions. So what if they're right. Now we just have to dodge about fifty, nasty, smelly men, then stand in the same enclosed space with them and use a few filthy disease-ridden urinals then we can go, right? Maybe you should just spread the crowd out a little. What do you think?"

Bruce eyed him with a glare. "I am not doing that right here, right now. What are you, nuts?"

"No, but I have a few of those and I feel like they're going to pop off or something if I don't pee soon." Tony shot back.

Bruce rolled his eyes and refocused on his little spot on the wall again. A random guy, in a Cardinals uniform with his face shaved alike to Tony, suddenly flew off balance. He hit Bruce in the back, which dropped him into Tony, who yelped in response. The guy behind Tony was dressed in a Yankees jersey and didn't take kindly to the Cardinals fan. They tossed their drinks, the fists started to fly, and, suddenly, all Hell broke loose right over top of the two Avengers.

Banner managed to squeeze out from the bodies, dragging Tony along behind him. Stark's disguise knocked free and suddenly a few of the bystanders recognized Tony's face. Some started screaming. Another person in line pulled Bruce's arm. Someone screamed for the Hulk and the line for the bathroom suddenly exploded into a mass of impenetrable bodies.

If there was one thing in life Bruce did not cope well with, it was claustrophobia. He'd spent too long in cramped quarters trying to stay out in wide open spaces to prevent the harm he could potentially do to others.

This was the last straw. There was no escape. There was no hiding. He was out. He was trapped.

And dang it all, Bruce Banner needed to pee.

:(:):(:):

Clint and Steve had moved from their central location in the rows of empty seats to the front of the abandoned section. They'd relinquished the thought of a friendly day out at the ball park, listening to the radio announcer over their phones and stuffing their faces in hot dogs. The Yankees came back in the game, waking up in the top of the sixth inning to even the score. Now heading into the seventh inning stretch, and no sign of Tony and Banner, Clint and Steve were at the height of their friendly war.

"They better show up soon, 'cause I'm about to send a search party out." Clint said, relaxing back in his seat.

Steve stretched and sat beside him as the players began to clear the field. A podium was rolled out toward the pitcher's mound. No doubt some big wig was there to make a speech, throw a ball, and kiss some babies or something. In all, it was a waste of free time and oxygen.

"I'm not worried about Tony." Steve said, sitting with his legs on the rail. "Bruce is not about being around that many people. I can't imagine where he's at."

Clint snickered.

"What?"

Clint shook his head to remove the thought. "Nothing, never mind. I was just wondering whether or not—" He never had the chance to finish his thought. Screams erupted from the stadium behind them as men, women, and children flooded the empty section Clint and Steve sat in. A familiar roar shook the ground. After that, a hot dog cart made a one way trip directly through the air, arced over the edge of the stadium, and took out a Land Rover in the parking lot.

"So much for the game." Steve said.

"I think that was someone calling me." Clint replied. Steve stood aside to let Clint by. If anyone could talk the Hulk down, it was him. But threading his way through the now panicked crowd was going to take Steve's strength. Before they even had a chance to evacuate their aisle, the Hulk made a stunning move. He crashed through the archway to the private section, sending the people screaming and running frantically in all directions. Steve broke away to stop the mass before they decided to jump off the ledge in a misguided attempt to save themselves. The pathway toward the enraged Banner cleared, allowing Clint a straight shot at him.

He waved his arms over his head to get the Hulk's attention. Most people would call that insane, but Clint was relying on the strange camaraderie he and the Hulk developed to keep him from getting pummeled like Thor typically was.

"Whoa, big guy! Hang on there and let's talk this over a minute!" Clint shouted, waving his arms over his head to get Hulk's attention off the fleeing masses and onto him.

The Hulk stomped toward him, roaring as he came.

"Easy! HEY! I said knock it off!" Clint screamed.

The Hulk stopped just a foot from him. Two mighty fists slammed down on either side of Clint, nearly crushing him. Their faces were inches apart.

"What's all this about?" Clint asked, keeping a level head in the wake of what could very soon be his complete destruction.

The Hulk glared down at him. Clint folded his arms and shrugged his shoulders. All around them, Steve had worked to get the crowd calmed down and filing out.

"Stupid people." The Hulk grumbled. Furious, he slammed his fist again into the aisle so hard the deck shook beneath them.

"Ok, stupid people. What did they do? You were on your way to the bathroom, what happened then?"

"Don't wanna talk!" he growled.

"Then what do you want? You want to leave? Ok, then let's go. I'll go first. How about the Liberty Statue, you like it over there." Clint said.

"NO!"

"Ok, then where do you want to go?"

The Hulk's face screwed as he tore his eyes away from Clint and to the rest of the stadium. Thousands of flashing lights were pointed in his direction. Every player on both teams was on the field looking up to the stands. A lot of people, and they were all looking at him.

"Hey, big guy."

The Hulk looked back to Clint grumbling.

"Don't get all shy on them now. If you want to leave, I said I'd leave. But if you want to watch my team clobber Captain Star Spangle then you're more than welcome to just stay here with us."

"Baseball stupid!" The Hulk replied.

"Yeah it's slow, and it's kinda pointless but I've got a hundred bucks saying that tight cheeks loses. You sure you don't want to just watch for a little while? You hate it, then we can go."

"Don't want them looking!" He said, indicating the stadium.

"Well you do stick out."

The Hulk glared at him.

"All right, I'll tell them. You go sit down up front and let me handle it. Punch Steve in the gut, that always makes you feel better."

"Stupid human. How you say anything?!"

"Big green idiot, just wait and watch me." When Clint turned around, the Hulk growled at his back. The archer threw him a wry look over his shoulder. "Aww, come on, gimme a break would ya and sit down."

Clint passed by Steve's on his way down to the empty section row. Steve stopped him for a moment.

"What are you planning?"

"Got me." Clint said.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Just baby sit him, feed him a hot dog, maybe let him pound on you a little."

"Clint—"

The archer headed down the rest of the row until he hit the end railing that jutted out over the rest of the stadium and the outfield, below. When he reached the rail, he climbed over the top and checked the distance downward. He'd heard a few stories, ones he'd previously forgotten but now came crashing back, of men who'd fallen to their death reaching for foul balls. This was going to be something like that, just without the death part. People screamed as he went over the side of the wall. He heard a roar from the Hulk and a shout from Steve. The railing jostled in his hands as the weight of both men made the upper section quake. But Clint was used to scrambling up and down tall buildings and the stadium was perfectly designed with all the hand holds he required.

He climbed down the first level, dropped into the crowd who parted below him and jogged his way over to the second tier railing. To the gasping crowd's shock, he vaulted that barrier as well. He climbed down to the field level and headed for the far wall and the green of right field beyond.

The jumb-o-tron had three cameras dedicated to broadcasting the entire event. One massive camera followed along with Clint's process. Another was focused on the pitcher's mound where a podium was erected for the seventh inning stretch. Tony Stark himself was standing there, watching Clint make his way over. Clint had wondered where the man had gotten himself off to and he really wasn't surprised to find him in the center of the action. The third camera displayed Steve Rogers and the Hulk. Tired of standing, the Hulk decided to sit on the edge of their nosebleed section with his green legs hanging over the side. Steve stood off to his left. Most of the people were keeping their distance in case the Hulk got even more upset, but for now it seemed the storm may be over. When Clint reached the field wall, he was stopped by three security officers before he could walk onto the green.

"Really?" Clint asked. "Avenger. You want my SHIELD ID? Or does the big guy hanging up there have to squash somebody before you let me try and defuse this?"

The three dumbfounded men considered this option. While they debated, Clint cleared the short barrier and headed out onto the field. The time it took for the trip down from his seat did nothing to inspire what exactly he planned to do when he reached the podium. If he did nothing, most likely Banner's other side would take off, tear through New York, and cause generally a much bigger problem than already. Here, there were many concerns weighing in either direction, but seeing Tony Stark standing smugly on the pitcher's mound eliminated any of Clint's potential plans.

"Stark." Clint tried to keep the growl out of his voice. To each other, last names were a strictly angry statement no matter how they were said. Tony's only saving grace was Clint had not referred to him by the irksome "Anthony" instead.

"Hawkspy." Tony retorted. He was wearing a blue ball cap and new sunglasses. Clint didn't want to know where they came from. Tony's hair rarely found itself tucked under something.

Clint joined him at the podium. His eyes naturally avoided looking at the entire stadium full of people. The two dedicated cameras zoomed in close to the pair hanging behind the podium.

"What did you do?" Clint demanded through clenched teeth. The rest of his face was pulled into a taught smile for the thousands of fans.

"I did nothing that someone else would not do." Stark replied cryptically.

A technician was bent over the front of the podium frantically hooking up a microphone set. Clint watched him work so his lips were less available for any potential readers.

"Stark, I don't know what you said to Banner to make him—"

"I? I said nothing. He had to pee and the line was too long, and maybe there was a fight, and maybe he peed on a wall instead since he could no longer fit in a stall."

"Oh God." Clint's hand went up to rub between his eyes beneath his shades. "I'm going to kill you. How do you want me to do it?"

"Is this you giving me options?"

"You have three. I can strangle you, stab you in your femoral artery and watch you bleed out, or I'll break your neck. Can I tell you which one I prefer, or which one you should choose?"

The technician threw a panicked glance backward and angled himself a little away from Clint's direct line of sight. It was common for the populace to forget Hawkeye was a trained assassin and not a cartoon superhero knocking people out with blunt arrow heads.

"Can I choose option D?"

"There is no option D unless you want all of the above."

"Option F then?"

Clint groaned.

The mic switched on with a squeal. Tony and Clint both winced against the offending noise while the technician scrambled away. The cameras closed in, the stadium went quiet, and Clint's mind went blank. He wasn't a public speaking kind of guy. Frankly, in the spy business, having his face plastered over news reels was the precise opposite of what he wanted. SHIELD would have to do a massive video clean up later to scramble some of his features just as they did during New York.

Tony tapped the mic to produce a series of angry thumps. He already had everyone's attention, but he liked the extra show. "And how is everyone in New York today?" Tony asked.

As if he was standing on the stage of the Tonight Show, the world laughed.

Clint paled. Suddenly he wanted to crawl back up to his seat and hide.

With one flagrant motion he indicated the archer. "Introducing one of my personal friends, currently visiting from the Zurich Cirque due Soleil, Benedict Macklemore! Please, your applause!"

Tony stepped away from the podium and every soul in the stadium was applauding Clint's spider-monkey act. It was then that Clint decided Tony was getting the knife to his femoral artery.

Tony reclaimed the mic before it picked up any of Clint's whispered curses. "He's a shy soul. But hey, look at that, the Incredible Hulk appeared too!" This time before applause could overtake him; he lifted his arms and lowered them as if to keep the crowd quiet. "Now as shy as Benedict Macklemore is, the big guy is a little more so, so—everyone, look at me—ok good. Now I did invite the big guy down here but his reply to that idea was how badly he was going to smash me into the pavement for forcing him to go."

Again, the crowd erupted in laughter. Clint, despite his misgivings, was suddenly very glad Stark had shown up when he did. If there was one thing Clint was not proficient in, it was working a room.

"If you're sitting there wondering, what am I up here saying? Then this is it. Sometimes we got to cut loose. Our entire day can't be spent getting cats out of trees and stopping government nuclear attacks—oh wait, did I just say that out loud?"

More laughter. Clint turned red and buried his eyes in his hand.

"Sometimes we got to stretch out. Be normal, and I just happen to be a Yankees fan. Mackcromay, here, has a bet going with Captain America as to what team's going to blow who out of the water. So let's get this game back on." Tony lifted his arms to the fans and the whole stadium cheered. The technician jogged back to the podium and planted a game ball in Tony's hand before indicating the ready catcher behind the mound. Apparently, Tony had forgotten to throw the first pitch and they wanted to make up the process now.

Tony turned to Clint and dropped the ball in his hand. "How good are you with a ball, Hawk-face?"

"Better than you." Clint replied, accepting the offer.

"You bet on that?" Tony asked.

Clint smirked. He was going to go home a rich man after this day was through. "Sure. How about that two million I owe you from buying Steve's apartment?"

Tony's eyebrows arched above the new shades, a considerable feat. "Well, if you are going for those odds, you have to take the shot from there." He extended his hand and pointed out second base. "Feet can't cross in front, strike or nothing. If you lose, it's four million."

Clint nodded. "Thought you only bet on sure things, Stark."

"I am sure." Tony replied.

The podium was cleared away and the players began to shake off the terror of having the Hulk In their midst. Some approached Tony in a desperate attempt to introduce themselves to the invincible Iron Man before he headed back to his seat. Before they reached him, the players were stopped in their tracks by watching the introduced circus-performer stalking off to second base with the ball in his hand. Tony cleared the way and pushed his sunglasses to the top of his stolen hat to watch the show.

Clint stepped onto second base and lined up his fingers along the threads of the baseball. If they decided to make a real competition out of this, he knew Steve would beat him every time. On the same hand, he doubted Tony could throw a newspaper at the Great Wall of China from ten feet out. He was satisfied to be somewhere in between the skills of his friends.

The catcher stood up in his position and extended his arms to either side. Clint was sure the man was wondering whether or not Clint was crazy. From that distance, Hawkeye couldn't hear him, but Tony was persuasive enough to convince the man to sit back and get his glove ready.

The fans settled and went quiet. The overhead speakers played a dramatic drum roll. Clint set his hands, remembering all those days he didn't spend playing baseball with his father on weekday afternoons. It didn't matter now. His upper body strength from archery and his impeccable aim made missing virtually impossible. He wound up. It wasn't as dramatic as the Yankees pitchers would have expected but the pure power from the snap of his wrist sent the laced ball flying across the field like a comet. The catcher blinked once and found the ball buried deep enough in his glove to make him shoot out of his crouch and shake his dazed hand furiously.

Unlike one of Tony's punch lines, no one cheered this time. The masses were too stunned to talk. Clint stuffed his hands nonchalantly into his pockets and strolled back to Tony. He didn't miss the two managers that went flying out of their dug outs to cut him off before he could get to his seat.

"Show off." Tony said to him.

"Yeah, look who's talking!" Clint fired back. "Two mill. Slates clean."

Tony grumbled. "I just got robbed. I actually just got robbed."

The world around them overcame their shock and suddenly the fans were screaming like crazy. The first manager to reach Clint was from the Yankees. Tony effectively blocked him like Clint's personal bodyguard. The two were heading for the outfield wall past the first base line. Clint had all intention of climbing back up the way he went down but Tony was more interested in normal locomotive methods. They scaled the wall, spilled into the waiting fans, and made their way slowly back to their seats.

Over time, the world calmed again as the players reclaimed the green for the final few innings. Happy met Clint and Tony down on the first level to help usher them through the throng of Avengers fans. The crowd had overcome their fear of being smashed in order to get a peek at Tony Stark and the amazing circus performer with him. With Happy as their escort, the Avengers returned to their section, abandoned again save for Steve and the Hulk.

While Tony kept to the front row seats like a normal person, Clint went down to the edge of the level and sat beside Steve and the Hulk. Along the way, he grabbed a coke and handed it over to Steve. The Hulk's iron stare bore into Clint's shoulders. After a time, Clint reached into the bottom of a greasy paper bag and passed over four trays of fries.

The Hulk considered the offering but took it, regardless of his misgivings, and tilted the bag into the expanse of his mouth.

On Clint's other side Steve dug into the depths of his pocket and extracted a piece of his scorecard. With a pencil, he scribbled down a note and passed it to Clint. The archer read it to himself.

"Did you just right me a coupon for two weeks of laundry detail?" Clint remarked, laughing.

Steve sat back and shrugged. "Well, I did say that you'd have to show me something that I've never seen before. Not only have I never seen the Hulk behave so well in public, but I've never seen a guy haul up to second base, wind up a shot and knock the catcher back four feet with a solid hundred and seven mile-per-hour pitch. The jumb-o-tron showed the speed."

Clint arched his eyebrow. "Wow."

Steve shrugged. "Yeah. I'll admit, it was an impressive shot."

"No," Clint interrupted. "That's not it. Usually I can squeeze a hundred and twenty out of a ball that size. Must be slipping a little. I'll work on that." Clint slipped the paper into his pocket and waited to see how the bomb would drop.

"Bull." Steve said.

The bomb didn't just drop, it exploded on impact and leveled four towns apparently. Steve never almost-cursed. Clint passed it off as if the comment was nothing.

"Yeah, well, you know, do enough archery, Cap, you're prepared for that kind of thing."

"No way! No. Not that fast! I'm calling you out on that."

"How much you paying?"

"How about a two-week laundry coupon?" Steve retorted.

Beside them, the Hulk sneered and dropped his empty fry carton beside Clint's leg. "Stupid bet!" the big guy said. "Arrow Man beat Color Man!"

Steve furrowed his brow. "Will not!"

Clint looked up at the Hulk. "Bruce didn't want to get in on it, but is this you wanting a little piece of this action then?"

The Hulk smiled a wide, disturbing, square-toothed smile. "Hulk not stupid."

Ok, so here's the end for now! like i said, may adjust in the future. Hope you enjoyed this fun little romp.

Sometimes i like to surprise my editors and post stories like this totally at random. after all, they deserve some surprises too, don't they? LOL

Please review!